The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
The
Orange Fairy Book
Edited
by Andrew Lang
London:
Longmans, Green and Co.
[1906]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
CONTENTS
[*Preface]
[*The
Story of the Hero Makoma]
[*The
Magic Mirror]
[*Story
of the King who would see Paradise]
[*How
Isuro the Rabbit tricked Gudu]
[*Ian,
the Soldier's Son]
[*The
Fox and the Wolf]
[*How
Ian Direach got the Blue Falcon]
[*The
Ugly Duckling]
[*The
Two Caskets]
[*The
Goldsmith's Fortune]
[*The
Enchanted Wreath]
[*The
Foolish Weaver]
[*The
Clever Cat]
[*The
Story of Manus]
[*Pinkel
the Thief]
[*The
Adventures of a Jackal]
[*The
Adventures of the Jachal's Eldest Son]
[*The
Adventures of the Younger Son of the Jackal]
[*The
Three Treasures of the Giants]
[*The
Rover of the Plain]
[*The
White Doe]
[*The
Girl Fish]
[*The
Owl and the Eagle]
[*The
Frog and the Lion Fairy]
[*The
Adventures of Covan the Brown-haired]
[*The
Princess Bella-Flor]
[*The
Bird of Truth]
[*The
Mink and the Wolf]
[*Adventures
of an Indian Brave]
[*How
the Stalos were Tricked]
[*Andras
Baive]
[*The
White Slipper]
[*The
Magic Book]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f00]
Preface
The
children who read fairy books, or have fairy books read to them, do not read
prefaces, and the parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, who give fairy books to
their daughters, nieces, and cousines, leave prefaces unread. For whom, then,
are prefaces written? When an author publishes a book 'out of his own head,' he
writes the preface for his own pleasure. After reading over his book in
print--to make sure that all the 'u's' are not printed as 'n's,' and all the
'n's' as 'u's' in the proper names--then the author says, mildly, in his
preface, what he thinks about his own book, and what he means it to prove--if
he means it to prove anything--and why it is not a better book than it is. But,
perhaps, nobody reads prefaces except other authors; and critics, who hope that
they will find enough in the preface to enable them to do without reading any
of the book.
This
appears to be the philosophy of prefaces in general, and perhaps authors might
be more daring and candid than they are with advantage, and write regular
criticisms of their own books in their prefaces, for nobody can be so good a
critic of himself as the author--if he has a sense of humour. If he has not,
the less he says in his preface the better.
These
Fairy Books, however, are not written by the Editor, as he has often explained,
'out of his own head.' The stories are taken from those told by grannies to
grandchildren in many countries and in many languages-- French, Italian,
Spanish, Catalan, Gaelic, Icelandic, Cherokee, African, Indian, Australian,
Slavonic, Eskimo, and what not. The stories are not literal, or word by word
translations, but have been altered in many ways to make them suitable for
children. Much has been left out in places, and the narrative has been broken
up into conversations, the characters telling each other how matters stand, and
speaking for themselves, as children, and some older people, prefer them to do.
In many tales, fairly cruel and savage deeds are done, and these have been
softened down as much as possible; though it is impossible, even if it were
desirable, to conceal the circumstance that popular stories were never intended
to be tracts and nothing else. Though they usually take the side of courage and
kindness, and the virtues in general, the old story-tellers admire successful
cunning as much as Homer does in the Odyssey. At least, if the cunning hero,
human or animal, is the weaker, like Odysseus, Brer Rabbit, and many others, the
story-teller sees little in intellect but superior cunning, by which tiny Jack
gets the better of the giants. In the fairy tales of no country are 'improper'
incidents common, which is to the credit of human nature, as they were
obviously composed mainly for children. It is not difficult to get rid of this
element when it does occur in popular tales.
The
old puzzle remains a puzzle--why do the stories of the remotest people so
closely resemble each other? Of course, in the immeasurable past, they have been
carried about by conquering races, and learned by conquering races from
vanquished peoples. Slaves carried far from home brought their stories with
them into captivity. Wanderers, travellers, shipwrecked men, merchants, and
wives stolen from alien tribes have diffused the stories; gipsies and Jews have
passed them about; Roman soldiers of many different races, moved here and there
about the Empire, have trafficked in them. From the remotest days men have been
wanderers, and wherever they went their stories accompanied them. The slave
trade might take a Greek to Persia, a Persian to Greece; an Egyptian woman to
Phoenicia; a Babylonian to Egypt; a Scandinavian child might be carried with
the amber from the Baltic to the Adriatic; or a Sidonian to Ophir, wherever
Ophir may have been; while the Portuguese may have borne their tales to South
Africa, or to Asia, and thence brought back other tales to Egypt. The stories
wandered wherever the Buddhist missionaries went, and the earliest French
voyageurs told them to the Red Indians. These facts help to account for the
sameness of the stories everywhere; and the uniformity of human fancy in early
societies must be the cause of many other resemblances.
In
this volume there are stories from the natives of Rhodesia, collected by Mr.
Fairbridge, who speaks the native language, and one is brought by Mr. Cripps
from another part of Africa, Uganda. Three tales from the Punjaub were
collected and translated by Major Campbell. Various savage tales, which needed
a good deal of editing, are derived from the learned pages of the 'Journal of
the Anthropological Institute.' With these exceptions, and 'The Magic Book,'
translated by Mrs. Pedersen, from 'Eventyr fra Jylland,' by Mr. Ewald Tang
Kristensen (Stories from Jutland), all the tales have been done, from various
sources, by Mrs. Lang, who has modified, where it seemed desirable, all the
narratives.
The
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[f01]
The
Orange Fairy Book
The
Story of the Hero Makoma From the Senna (Oral Tradition)
Once
upon a time, at the town of Senna on the banks of the Zambesi, was born a
child. He was not like other children, for he was very tall and strong; over
his shoulder he carried a big sack, and in his hand an iron hammer. He could
also speak like a grown man, but usually he was very silent.
One
day his mother said to him: 'My child, by what name shall we know you?'
And
he answered: 'Call all the head men of Senna here to the river's bank.' And his
mother called the head men of the town, and when they had come he led them down
to a deep black pool in the river where all the fierce crocodiles lived.
'O
great men!' he said, while they all listened, 'which of you will leap into the
pool and overcome the crocodiles?' But no one would come forward. So he turned
and sprang into the water and disappeared.
The
people held their breath, for they thought: 'Surely the boy is bewitched and
throws away his life, for the crocodiles will eat him!' Then suddenly the ground
trembled, and the pool, heaving and swirling, became red with blood, and
presently the boy rising to the surface swam on shore.
But
he was no longer just a boy! He was stronger than any man and very tall and
handsome, so that the people shouted with gladness when they saw him.
'Now,
O my people!' he cried, waving his hand, 'you know my name--I am Makoma,
"the Greater"; for have I not slain the crocodiles into the pool
where none would venture?'
Then
he said to his mother: 'Rest gently, my mother, for I go to make a home for
myself and become a hero.' Then, entering his hut he took Nu-endo, his iron
hammer, and throwing the sack over his shoulder, he went away.
Makoma
crossed the Zambesi, and for many moons he wandered towards the north and west
until he came to a very hilly country where, one day, he met a huge giant
making mountains.
'Greeting,'
shouted Makoma, 'you are you?'
'I
am Chi-eswa-mapiri, who makes the mountains,' answered the giant; 'and who are
you?'
'I
am Makoma, which signifies "greater,"' answered he.
'Greater
than who?' asked the giant.
'Greater
than you!' answered Makoma.
The
giant gave a roar and rushed upon him. Makoma said nothing, but swinging his
great hammer, Nu-endo, he struck the giant upon the head.
He
struck him so hard a blow that the giant shrank into quite a little man, who
fell upon his knees saying: 'You are indeed greater than I, O Makoma; take me
with you to be your slave!' So Makoma picked him up and dropped him into the
sack that he carried upon his back.
He
was greater than ever now, for all the giant's strength had gone into him; and
he resumed his journey, carrying his burden with as little difficulty as an
eagle might carry a hare.
Before
long he came to a country broken up with huge stones and immense clods of
earth. Looking over one of the heaps he saw a giant wrapped in dust dragging
out the very earth and hurling it in handfuls on either side of him.
'Who
are you,' cried Makoma, 'that pulls up the earth in this way?'
'I
am Chi-dubula-taka,' said he, 'and I am making the river-beds.'
'Do
you know who I am?' said Makoma. 'I am he that is called "greater"!'
'Greater
than who?' thundered the giant.
'Greater
than you!' answered Makoma.
With
a shout, Chi-dubula-taka seized a great clod of earth and launched it at
Makoma. But the hero had his sack held over his left arm and the stones and
earth fell harmlessly upon it, and, tightly gripping his iron hammer, he rushed
in and struck the giant to the ground. Chi-dubula-taka grovelled before him,
all the while growing smaller and smaller; and when he had become a convenient
size Makoma picked him up and put him into the sack beside Chi-eswa-mapiri.
He
went on his way even greater than before, as all the river-maker's power had
become his; and at last he came to a forest of bao-babs and thorn trees. He was
astonished at their size, for every one was full grown and larger than any
trees he had ever seen, and close by he saw Chi-gwisa-miti, the giant who was
planting the forest.
Chi-gwisa-miti
was taller than either of his brothers, but Makoma was not afraid, and called
out to him: 'Who are you, O Big One?'
'I,'
said the giant, 'am Chi-gwisa-miti, and I am planting these bao-babs and thorns
as food for my children the elephants.'
'Leave
off!' shouted the hero, 'for I am Makoma, and would like to exchange a blow
with thee!'
The
giant, plucking up a monster bao-bab by the roots, struck heavily at Makoma;
but the hero sprang aside, and as the weapon sank deep into the soft earth,
whirled Nu-endo the hammer round his head and felled the giant with one blow.
So
terrible was the stroke that Chi-gwisa-miti shrivelled up as the other giants
had done; and when he had got back his breath he begged Makoma to take him as his
servant. 'For,' said he, 'it is honourable to serve a man so great as thou.'
Makoma,
after placing him in his sack, proceeded upon his journey, and travelling for
many days he at last reached a country so barren and rocky that not a single
living thing grew upon it--everywhere reigned grim desolation. And in the midst
of this dead region he found a man eating fire.
'What
are you doing?' demanded Makoma.
'I
am eating fire,' answered the man, laughing; 'and my name is Chi-idea-moto, for
I am the flame-spirit, and can waste and destroy what I like.'
'You
are wrong,' said Makoma; 'for I am Makoma, who is "greater" than
you--and you cannot destroy me!'
The
fire-eater laughed again, and blew a flame at Makoma. But the hero sprang
behind a rock--just in time, for the ground upon which he had been standing was
turned to molten glass, like an overbaked pot, by the heat of the
flame-spirit's breath.
Then
the hero flung his iron hammer at Chi-idea-moto, and, striking him, it knocked
him helpless; so Makoma placed him in the sack, Woro-nowu, with the other great
men that he had overcome.
And
now, truly, Makoma was a very great hero; for he had the strength to make
hills, the industry to lead rivers over dry wastes, foresight and wisdom in
planting trees, and the power of producing fire when he wished.
Wandering
on he arrived one day at a great plain, well watered and full of game; and in
the very middle of it, close to a large river, was a grassy spot, very pleasant
to make a home upon.
Makoma
was so delighted with the little meadow that he sat down under a large tree and
removing the sack from his shoulder, took out all the giants and set them
before him. 'My friends,' said he, 'I have travelled far and am weary. Is not
this such a place as would suit a hero for his home? Let us then go, to-morrow,
to bring in timber to make a kraal.'
So
the next day Makoma and the giants set out to get poles to build the kraal,
leaving only Chi-eswa-mapiri to look after the place and cook some venison which
they had killed. In the evening, when they returned, they found the giant
helpless and tied to a tree by one enormous hair!
'How
is it,' said Makoma, astonished, 'that we find you thus bound and helpless?'
'O
Chief,' answered Chi-eswa-mapiri, 'at mid-day a man came out of the river; he
was of immense statue, and his grey moustaches were of such length that I could
not see where they ended! He demanded of me "Who is thy master?" And
I answered: "Makoma, the greatest of heroes." Then the man seized me,
and pulling a hair from his moustache, tied me to this tree--even as you see
me.'
Makoma
was very wroth, but he said nothing, and drawing his finger-nail across the
hair (which was as thick and strong as palm rope) cut it, and set free the
mountain-maker.
The
three following days exactly the same thing happened, only each time with a
different one of the party; and on the fourth day Makoma stayed in camp when
the others went to cut poles, saying that he would see for himself what sort of
man this was that lived in the river and whose moustaches were so long that
they extended beyond men's sight.
So
when the giants had gone he swept and tidied the camp and put some venison on
the fire to roast. At midday, when the sun was right overhead, he heard a
rumbling noise from the river, and looking up he saw the head and shoulders of
an enormous man emerging from it. And behold! right down the river-bed and up
the river-bed, till they faded into the blue distance, stretched the giant's
grey moustaches!
'Who
are you?' bellowed the giant, as soon as he was out of the water.
'I
am he that is called Makoma,' answered the hero; 'and, before I slay thee, tell
me also what is thy name and what thou doest in the river?'
'My
name is Chin-debou Mau-giri,' said the giant. 'My home is in the river, for my
moustache is the grey fever-mist that hangs above the water, and with which I
bind all those that come unto me so that they die.'
'You
cannot bind me!' shouted Makoma, rushing upon him and striking with his hammer.
But the river giant was so slimy that the blow slid harmlessly off his green
chest, and as Makoma stumbled and tried to regain his balance, the giant swung
one of his long hairs around him and tripped him up.
For
a moment Makoma was helpless, but remembering the power of the flame-spirit
which had entered into him, he breathed a fiery breath upon the giant's hair
and cut himself free.
As
Chin-debou Mau-giri leaned forward to seize him the hero flung his sack
Woronowu over the giant's slippery head, and gripping his iron hammer, struck
him again; this time the blow alighted upon the dry sack and Chin-debou
Mau-giri fell dead.
When
the four giants returned at sunset with the poles, they rejoiced to find that
Makoma had overcome the fever-spirit, and they feasted on the roast venison
till far into the night; but in the morning, when they awoke, Makoma was
already warming his hands to the fire, and his face was gloomy.
'In
the darkness of the night, O my friends,' he said presently, 'the white spirits
of my fathers came upon me and spoke, saying: "Get thee hence, Makoma, for
thou shalt have no rest until thou hast found and fought with Sakatirina, who
had five heads, and is very great and strong; so take leave of thy friends, for
thou must go alone."'
Then
the giants were very sad, and bewailed the loss of their hero; but Makoma
comforted them, and gave back to each the gifts he had taken from them. Then
bidding them 'Farewell,' he went on his way.
Makoma
travelled far towards the west; over rough mountains and water-logged morasses,
fording deep rivers, and tramping for days across dry deserts where most men
would have died, until at length he arrived at a hut standing near some large
peaks, and inside the hut were two beautiful women.
'Greeting!'
said the hero. 'Is this the country of Sakatirina of five heads, whom I am
seeking?'
'We
greet you, O Great One!' answered the women. 'We are the wives of Sakatirina;
your search is at an end, for there stands he whom you seek!' And they pointed
to what Makoma had thought were two tall mountain peaks. 'Those are his legs,'
they said; 'his body you cannot see, for it is hidden in the clouds.'
Makoma
was astonished when he beheld how tall was the giant; but, nothing daunted, he
went forward until he reached one of Sakatirina's legs, which he struck heavily
with Nu-endo. Nothing happened, so he hit again and then again until,
presently, he heard a tired, far-away voice saying: 'Who is it that scratches
my feet?'
And
Makoma shouted as loud as he could, answering: 'It is I, Makoma, who is called
"Greater"!' And he listened, but there was no answer.
Then
Makoma collected all the dead brushwood and trees that he could find, and
making an enormous pile round the giant's legs, set a light to it.
This
time the giant spoke; his voice was very terrible, for it was the rumble of
thunder in the clouds. 'Who is it,' he said, 'making that fire smoulder around
my feet?'
'It
is I, Makoma!' shouted the hero. 'And I have come from far away to see thee, O
Sakatirina, for the spirits of my fathers bade me go seek and fight with thee,
lest I should grow fat, and weary of myself.'
There
was silence for a while, and then the giant spoke softly: 'It is good, O
Makoma!' he said. 'For I too have grown weary. There is no man so great as I,
therefore I am all alone. Guard thyself!' and bending suddenly he seized the
hero in his hands and dashed him upon the ground. And lo! instead of death,
Makoma had found life, for he sprang to his feet mightier in strength and
stature than before, and rushing in he gripped the giant by the waist and
wrestled with him.
Hour
by hour they fought, and mountains rolled beneath their feet like pebbles in a
flood; now Makoma would break away, and summoning up his strength, strike the
giant with Nu-endo his iron hammer, and Sakatirina would pluck up the mountains
and hurl them upon the hero, but neither one could slay the other. At last,
upon the second day, they grappled so strongly that they could not break away;
but their strength was failing, and, just as the sun was sinking, they fell
together to the ground, insensible.
In
the morning when they awoke, Mulimo the Great Spirit was standing by them; and
he said: 'O Makoma and Sakatirina! Ye are heroes so great that no man may come
against you. Therefore ye will leave the world and take up your home with me in
the clouds.' And as he spake the heroes became invisible to the people of the
Earth, and were no more seen among them.
[Native
Rhodesian Tale.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f02]
The
Magic Mirror From the Senna
A
long, long while ago, before ever the White Men were seen in Senna, there lived
a man called Gopani-Kufa.
One
day, as he was out hunting, he came upon a strange sight. An enormous python
had caught an antelope and coiled itself around it; the antelope, striking out
in despair with its horns, had pinned the python's neck to a tree, and so
deeply had its horns sunk in the soft wood that neither creature could get
away.
'Help!'
cried the antelope, 'for I was doing no harm, yet I have been caught, and would
have been eaten, had I not defended myself.'
'Help
me,' said the python, 'for I am Insato, King of all the Reptiles, and will
reward you well!'
Gopani-Kufa
considered for a moment, then stabbing the antelope with his assegai, he set
the python free.
'I
thank you,' said the python; 'come back here with the new moon, when I shall
have eaten the antelope, and I will reward you as I promised.'
'Yes,'
said the dying antelope, 'he will reward you, and lo! your reward shall be your
own undoing!'
Gopani-Kufa
went back to his kraal, and with the new moon he returned again to the spot
where he had saved the python.
Insato
was lying upon the ground, still sleepy from the effects of his huge meal, and
when he saw the man he thanked him again, and said: 'Come with me now to Pita,
which is my own country, and I will give you what you will of all my
possessions.'
Gopani-Kufa
at first was afraid, thinking of what the antelope had said, but finally he
consented and followed Insato into the forest.
For
several days they travelled, and at last they came to a hole leading deep into
the earth. It was not very wide, but large enough to admit a man. 'Hold on to my
tail,' said Insato, 'and I will go down first, drawing you after me.' The man
did so, and Insato entered.
Down,
down, down they went for days, all the while getting deeper and deeper into the
earth, until at last the darkness ended and they dropped into a beautiful
country; around them grew short green grass, on which browsed herds of cattle
and sheep and goats. In the distance Gopani-Kufa saw a great collection of
houses all square, built of stone and very tall, and their roofs were shining
with gold and burnished iron.
Gopani-Kufa
turned to Insato, but found, in the place of the python, a man, strong and
handsome, with the great snake's skin wrapped round him for covering; and on
his arms and neck were rings of pure gold.
The
man smiled. 'I am Insato,' said he, 'but in my own country I take man's
shape--even as you see me--for this is Pita, the land over which I am king.' He
then took Gopani-Kufa by the hand and led him towards the town.
On
the way they passed rivers in which men and women were bathing and fishing and
boating; and farther on they came to gardens covered with heavy crops of rice
and maize, and many other grains which Gopani-Kufa did not even know the name
of. And as they passed, the people who were singing at their work in the fields,
abandoned their labours and saluted Insato with delight, bringing also palm
wine and green cocoanuts for refreshment, as to one returned from a long
journey.
'These
are my children!' said Insato, waving his hand towards the people. Gopani-Kufa
was much astonished at all that he saw, but he said nothing. Presently they
came to the town; everything here, too, was beautiful, and everything that a
man might desire he could obtain. Even the grains of dust in the streets were
of gold and silver.
Insato
conducted Gopani-Kufa to the palace, and showing him his rooms, and the maidens
who would wait upon him, told him that they would have a great feast that
night, and on the morrow he might name his choice of the riches of Pita and it
should be given him. Then he was away.
Now
Gopani-Kufa had a wasp called Zengi-mizi. Zengi-mizi was not an ordinary wasp,
for the spirit of the father of Gopani-Kufa had entered it, so that it was
exceedingly wise. In times of doubt Gopani-Kufa always consulted the wasp as to
what had better be done, so on this occasion he took it out of the little rush
basket in which he carried it, saying: 'Zengi-mizi, what gift shall I ask of
Insato to-morrow when he would know the reward he shall bestow on me for saving
his life?'
'Biz-z-z,'
hummed Zengi-mizi, 'ask him for Sipao the Mirror.' And it flew back into its
basket.
Gopani-Kufa
was astonished at this answer; but knowing that the words of Zengi-mizi were
true words, he determined to make the request. So that night they feasted, and
on the morrow Insato came to Gopani-Kufa and, giving him greeting joyfully, he
said:
'Now,
O my friend, name your choice amongst my possessions and you shall have it!'
'O
king!' answered Gopani-Kufa, 'out of all your possessions I will have the
Mirror, Sipao.'
The
king started. 'O friend, Gopani-Kufa,' he said, 'ask anything but that! I did
not think that you would request that which is most precious to me.'
'Let
me think over it again then, O king,' said Gopani-Kufa, 'and to-morrow I will
let you know if I change my mind.'
But
the king was still much troubled, fearing the loss of Sipao, for the mirror had
magic powers, so that he who owned it had but to ask and his wish would be
fulfilled; to it Insato owed all that he possessed.
As
soon as the king left him, Gopani-Kufa again took Zengi-mizi, out of his
basket. 'Zengi-mizi,' he said, 'the king seems loth to grant my request for the
Mirror--is there not some other thing of equal value for which I might ask?'
And
the wasp answered: 'There is nothing in the world, O Gopani-Kufa, which is of
such value as this Mirror, for it is a Wishing Mirror, and accomplishes the
desires of him who owns it. If the king hesitates, go to him the next day, and
the day after, and in the end he will bestow the Mirror upon you, for you saved
his life.'
And
it was even so. For three days Gopani-Kufa returned the same answer to the
king, and, at last, with tears in his eyes, Insato gave him the Mirror, which
was of polished iron, saying: 'Take Sipao, then, O Gopani-Kufa, and may thy
wishes come true. Go back now to thine own country; Sipao will show you the
way.'
Gopani-Kufa
was greatly rejoiced, and, taking farewell of the king, said to the Mirror:
'Sipao,
Sipao, I wish to be back upon the Earth again!'
Instantly
he found himself standing upon the upper earth; but, not knowing the spot, he
said again to the Mirror:
'Sipao,
Sipao, I want the path to my own kraal!'
And
behold! right before him lay the path!
When
he arrived home he found his wife and daughter mourning for him, for they
thought that he had been eaten by lions; but he comforted them, saying that
while following a wounded antelope he had missed his way and had wandered for a
long time before he had found the path again.
That
night he asked Zengi-mizi, in whom sat the spirit of his father, what he had
better ask Sipao for next?
'Biz-z-z,'
said the wasp, 'would you not like to be as great a chief as Insato?'
And
Gopani-Kufa smiled, and took the Mirror and said to it:
'Sipao,
Sipao, I want a town as great as that of Insato, the King of Pita; and I wish
to be chief over it!'
Then
all along the banks of the Zambesi river, which flowed near by, sprang up
streets of stone buildings, and their roofs shone with gold and burnished iron
like those in Pita; and in the streets men and women were walking, and young
boys were driving out the sheep and cattle to pasture; and from the river came
shouts and laughter from the young men and maidens who had launched their
canoes and were fishing. And when the people of the new town beheld Gopani-Kufa
they rejoiced greatly and hailed him as chief.
Gopani-Kufa
was now as powerful as Insato the King of the Reptiles had been, and he and his
family moved into the palace that stood high above the other buildings right in
the middle of the town. His wife was too astonished at all these wonders to ask
any questions, but his daughter Shasasa kept begging him to tell her how he had
suddenly become so great; so at last he revealed the whole secret, and even
entrusted Sipao the Mirror to her care, saying:
'It
will be safer with you, my daughter, for you dwell apart; whereas men come to
consult me on affairs of state, and the Mirror might be stolen.'
Then
Shasasa took the Magic Mirror and hid it beneath her pillow, and after that for
many years Gopani-Kufa ruled his people both well and wisely, so that all men
loved him, and never once did he need to ask Sipao to grant him a wish.
Now
it happened that, after many years, when the hair of Gopani-Kufa was turning
grey with age, there came white men to that country. Up the Zambesi they came,
and they fought long and fiercely with Gopani-Kufa; but, because of the power
of the Magic Mirror, he beat them, and they fled to the sea-coast. Chief among
them was one Rei, a man of much cunning, who sought to discover whence sprang
Gopani-Kufa's power. So one day he called to him a trusty servant named Butou,
and said: 'Go you to the town and find out for me what is the secret of its
greatness.'
And
Butou, dressing himself in rags, set out, and when he came to Gopani-Kufa's
town he asked for the chief; and the people took him into the presence of
Gopani-Kufa. When the white man saw him he humbled himself, and said: 'O Chief!
take pity on me, for I have no home! When Rei marched against you I alone stood
apart, for I knew that all the strength of the Zambesi lay in your hands, and
because I would not fight against you he turned me forth into the forest to
starve!'
And
Gopani-Kufa believed the white man's story, and he took him in and feasted him,
and gave him a house.
In
this way the end came. For the heart of Shasasa, the daughter of Gopani-Kufa,
went forth to Butou the traitor, and from her he learnt the secret of the Magic
Mirror. One night, when all the town slept, he felt beneath her pillow and,
finding the Mirror, he stole it and fled back with it to Rei, the chief of the
white men.
So
it befell that, one day, as Gopani-Kufa was gazing up at the river from a
window of the palace he again saw the war-canoes of the white men; and at the
sight his spirit misgave him.
'Shasasa!
my daughter!' he cried wildly, 'go fetch me the mirror, for the white men are
at hand.'
'Woe
is me, my father!' she sobbed. 'The Mirror is gone! For I loved Butou the
traitor, and he has stolen Sipao from me!'
Then
Gopani-Kufa calmed himself, and drew out Zengi-mizi from its rush basket.
'O
spirit of my father!' he said, 'what now shall I do?'
'O
Gopani-Kufa!' hummed the wasp, 'there is nothing now that can be done, for the
words of the antelope which you slew are being fulfilled.'
'Alas!
I am an old man--I had forgotten!' cried the chief. 'The words of the antelope
were true words--my reward shall be my undoing--they are being fulfilled!'
Then
the white men fell upon the people of Gopani-Kufa and slew them together with
the chief and his daughter Shasasa; and since then all the power of the Earth
has rested in the hands of the white men, for they have in their possession
Sipao, the Magic Mirror.
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f03]
Story
of the King Who Would See Paradise
Once
upon a time there was king who, one day out hunting, came upon a fakeer in a
lonely place in the mountains. The fakeer was seated on a little old bedstead
reading the Koran, with his patched cloak thrown over his shoulders.
The
king asked him what he was reading; and he said he was reading about Paradise,
and praying that he might be worthy to enter there. Then they began to talk, and,
by-and-bye, the king asked the fakeer if he could show him a glimpse of
Paradise, for he found it very difficult to believe in what he could not see.
The fakeer replied that he was asking a very difficult, and perhaps a very
dangerous, thing; but that he would pray for him, and perhaps he might be able
to do it; only he warned the king both against the dangers of his unbelief, and
against the curiosity which prompted him to ask this thing. However, the king
was not to be turned from his purpose, and he promised the fakeer always to
provided him with food, if he, in return, would pray for him. To this the
fakeer agreed, and so they parted.
Time
went on, and the king always sent the old fakeer his food according to his
promise; but, whenever he sent to ask him when he was going to show him
Paradise, the fakeer always replied: 'Not yet, not yet!'
After
a year or two had passed by, the king heard one day that the fakeer was very
ill-- indeed, he was believed to be dying. Instantly he hurried off himself,
and found that it was really true, and that the fakeer was even then breathing
his last. There and then the king besought him to remember his promise, and to
show him a glimpse of Paradise. The dying fakeer replied that if the king would
come to his funeral, and, when the grave was filled in, and everyone else was
gone away, he would come and lay his hand upon the grave, he would keep his
word, and show him a glimpse of Paradise. At the same time he implored the king
not to do this thing, but to be content to see Paradise when God called him
there. Still the king's curiosity was so aroused that he would not give way.
Accordingly,
after the fakeer was dead, and had been buried, he stayed behind when all the
rest went away; and then, when he was quite alone, he stepped forward, and laid
his hand upon the grave! Instantly the ground opened, and the astonished king,
peeping in, saw a flight of rough steps, and, at the bottom of them, the fakeer
sitting, just as he used to sit, on his rickety bedstead, reading the Koran!
At
first the king was so surprised and frightened that he could only stare; but
the fakeer beckoned to him to come down, so, mustering up his courage, he
boldly stepped down into the grave.
The
fakeer rose, and, making a sign to the king to follow, walked a few paces along
a dark passage. Then he stopped, turned solemnly to his companion, and, with a
movement of his hand, drew aside as it were a heavy curtain, and
revealed--what? No one knows what was there shown to the king, nor did he ever
tell anyone; but, when the fakeer at length dropped the curtain, and the king
turned to leave the place, he had had his glimpse of Paradise! Trembling in
every limb, he staggered back along the passage, and stumbled up the steps out
of the tomb into the fresh air again.
The
dawn was breaking. It seemed odd to the king that he had been so long in the
grave. It appeared but a few minutes ago that he had descended, passed along a
few steps to the place where he had peeped beyond the veil, and returned again
after perhaps five minutes of that wonderful view! And what WAS it he had seen?
He racked his brains to remember, but he could not call to mind a single thing!
How curious everything looked too! Why, his own city, which by now he was
entering, seemed changed and strange to him! The sun was already up when he
turned into the palace gate and entered the public durbar hall. It was full;
and there upon the throne sat another king! The poor king, all bewildered, sat
down and stared about him. Presently a chamberlain came across and asked him
why he sat unbidden in the king's presence. 'But I am the king!' he cried.
'What
king?' said the chamberlain.
'The
true king of this country,' said he indignantly.
Then
the chamberlain went away, and spoke to the king who sat on the throne, and the
old king heard words like 'mad,' 'age,' 'compassion.' Then the king on the
throne called him to come forward, and, as he went, he caught sight of himself
reflected in the polished steel shield of the bodyguard, and started back in
horror! He was old, decrepit, dirty, and ragged! His long white beard and locks
were unkempt, and straggled all over his chest and shoulders. Only one sign of
royalty remained to him, and that was the signet ring upon his right hand. He
dragged it off with shaking fingers and held it up to the king.
'Tell
me who I am,' he cried; 'there is my signet, who once sat where you sit--even
yesterday!'
The
king looked at him compassionately, and examined the signet with curiosity.
Then he commanded, and they brought out dusty records and archives of the
kingdom, and old coins of previous reigns, and compared them faithfully. At
last the king turned to the old man, and said: 'Old man, such a king as this
whose signet thou hast, reigned seven hundred years ago; but he is said to have
disappeared, none know whither; where got you the ring?'
Then
the old man smote his breast, and cried out with a loud lamentation; for he
understood that he, who was not content to wait patiently to see the Paradise
of the faithful, had been judged already. And he turned and left the hall
without a word, and went into the jungle, where he lived for twenty-five years
a life of prayer and meditations, until at last the Angel of Death came to him,
and mercifully released him, purged and purified through his punishment.
[A
Pathan story told to Major Campbell.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f04]
How
Isuro the Rabbit Tricked Gudu
Far
away in a hot country, where the forests are very thick and dark, and the
rivers very swift and strong, there once lived a strange pair of friends. Now
one of the friends was a big white rabbit named Isuro, and the other was a tall
baboon called Gudu, and so fond were they of each other that they were seldom
seen apart.
One
day, when the sun was hotter even than usual, the rabbit awoke from his midday
sleep, and saw Gudu the baboon standing beside him.
'Get
up,' said Gudu; 'I am going courting, and you must come with me. So put some
food in a bag, and sling it round your neck, for we may not be able to find
anything to eat for a long while.'
Then
the rabbit rubbed his eyes, and gathered a store of fresh green things from
under the bushes, and told Gudu that he was ready for the journey.
They
went on quite happily for some distance, and at last they came to a river with
rocks scattered here and there across the stream.
'We
can never jump those wide spaces if we are burdened with food,' said Gudu, 'we
must throw it into the river, unless we wish to fall in ourselves.' And
stooping down, unseen by Isuro, who was in front of him, Gudu picked up a big
stone, and threw it into the water with a loud splash.
'It
is your turn now,' he cried to Isuro. And with a heavy sigh, the rabbit
unfastened his bag of food, which fell into the river.
The
road on the other side led down an avenue of trees, and before they had gone
very far Gudu opened the bag that lay hidden in the thick hair about his neck,
and began to eat some delicious-looking fruit.
'Where
did you get that from?' asked Isuro enviously.
'Oh,
I found after all that I could get across the rocks quite easily, so it seemed
a pity not to keep my bag,' answered Gudu.
'Well,
as you tricked me into throwing away mine, you ought to let me share with you,'
said Isuro. But Gudu pretended not to hear him, and strode along the path.
By-and-bye
they entered a wood, and right in front of them was a tree so laden with fruit
that its branches swept the ground. And some of the fruit was still green, and
some yellow. The rabbit hopped forward with joy, for he was very hungry; but
Gudu said to him: 'Pluck the green fruit, you will find it much the best. I
will leave it all for you, as you have had no dinner, and take the yellow for
myself.' So the rabbit took one of the green oranges and began to bite it, but
its skin was so hard that he could hardly get his teeth through the rind.
'It
does not taste at all nice,' he cried, screwing up his face; 'I would rather
have one of the yellow ones.'
'No!
no! I really could not allow that,' answered Gudu. 'They would only make you
ill. Be content with the green fruit.' And as they were all he could get, Isuro
was forced to put up with them.
After
this had happened two or three times, Isuro at last had his eyes opened, and
made up his mind that, whatever Gudu told him, he would do exactly the
opposite. However, by this time they had reached the village where dwelt Gudu's
future wife, and as they entered Gudu pointed to a clump of bushes, and said to
Isuro: 'Whenever I am eating, and you hear me call out that my food has burnt
me, run as fast as you can and gather some of those leaves that they may heal
my mouth.'
The
rabbit would have liked to ask him why he ate food that he knew would burn him,
only he was afraid, and just nodded in reply; but when they had gone on a
little further, he said to Gudu:
'I
have dropped my needle; wait here a moment while I go and fetch it.'
'Be
quick then,' answered Gudu, climbing into a tree. And the rabbit hastened back
to the bushes, and gathered a quantity of the leaves, which he hid among his
fur, 'For,' thought he, 'if I get them now I shall save myself the trouble of a
walk by-and-by.'
When
he had plucked as many as he wanted he returned to Gudu, and they went on
together.
The
sun was almost setting by the time they reached their journey's end and being
very tired they gladly sat down by a well. Then Gudu's betrothed, who had been
watching for him, brought out a pitcher of water--which she poured over them to
wash off the dust of the road--and two portions of food. But once again the
rabbit's hopes were dashed to the ground, for Gudu said hastily:
'The
custom of the village forbids you to eat till I have finished.' And Isuro did
not know that Gudu was lying, and that he only wanted more food. So he saw
hungrily looking on, waiting till his friend had had enough.
In
a little while Gudu screamed loudly: 'I am burnt! I am burnt!' though he was
not burnt at all. Now, though Isuro had the leaves about him, he did not dare
to produce them at the last moment lest the baboon should guess why he had
stayed behind. So he just went round a corner for a short time, and then came
hopping back in a great hurry. But, quick though he was, Gudu had been quicker
still, and nothing remained but some drops of water.
'How
unlucky you are,' said Gudu, snatching the leaves; 'no sooner had you gone than
ever so many people arrived, and washed their hands, as you see, and ate your
portion.' But, though Isuro knew better than to believe him, he said nothing,
and went to bed hungrier than he had ever been in his life.
Early
next morning they started for another village, and passed on the way a large
garden where people were very busy gathering monkey-nuts.
'You
can have a good breakfast at last,' said Gudu, pointing to a heap of empty
shells; never doubting but that Isuro would meekly take the portion shown him,
and leave the real nuts for himself. But what was his surprise when Isuro
answered:
'Thank
you; I think I should prefer these.' And, turning to the kernels, never stopped
as long as there was one left. And the worst of it was that, with so many
people about, Gudu could not take the nuts from him.
It
was night when they reached the village where dwelt the mother of Gudu's
betrothed, who laid meat and millet porridge before them.
'I
think you told me you were fond of porridge,' said Gudu; but Isuro answered:
'You are mistaking me for somebody else, as I always eat meat when I can get
it.' And again Gudu was forced to be content with the porridge, which he hated.
While
he was eating it, however a sudden thought darted into his mind, and he managed
to knock over a great pot of water which was hanging in front of the fire, and
put it quite out.
'Now,'
said the cunning creature to himself, 'I shall be able in the dark to steal his
meat!' But the rabbit had grown as cunning as he, and standing in a corner hid
the meat behind him, so that the baboon could not find it.
'O
Gudu!' he cried, laughing aloud, 'it is you who have taught me to be clever.'
And calling to the people of the house, he bade them kindle the fire, for Gudu
would sleep by it, but that he would pass the night with some friends in
another hut.
It
was still quite dark when Isuro heard his name called very softly, and, on
opening his eyes, beheld Gudu standing by him. Laying his finger on his nose,
in token of silence, he signed to Isuro to get up and follow him, and it was
not until they were some distance from the hut that Gudu spoke.
'I
am hungry and want something to eat better than that nasty porridge that I had
for supper. So I am going to kill one of those goats, and as you are a good
cook you must boil the flesh for me.' The rabbit nodded, and Gudu disappeared
behind a rock, but soon returned dragging the dead goat with him. The two then
set about skinning it, after which they stuffed the skin with dried leaves, so
that no one would have guessed it was not alive, and set it up in the middle of
a lump of bushes, which kept it firm on its feet. While he was doing this,
Isuro collected sticks for a fire, and when it was kindled, Gudu hastened to
another hut to steal a pot which he filled with water from the river, and,
planting two branches in the ground, they hung the pot with the meat in it over
the fire.
'It
will not be fit to eat for two hours at least,' said Gudu, 'so we can both have
a nap.' And he stretched himself out on the ground, and pretended to fall fast
asleep, but, in reality, he was only waiting till it was safe to take all the
meat for himself. 'Surely I hear him snore,' he thought; and he stole to the
place where Isuro was lying on a pile of wood, but the rabbit's eyes were wide
open.
'How
tiresome,' muttered Gudu, as he went back to his place; and after waiting a
little longer he got up, and peeped again, but still the rabbit's pink eyes
stared widely. If Gudu had only known, Isuro was asleep all the time; but this
he never guessed, and by-and-bye he grew so tired with watching that he went to
sleep himself. Soon after, Isuro woke up, and he too felt hungry, so he crept
softly to the pot and ate all the meat, while he tied the bones together and
hung them in Gudu's fur. After that he went back to the wood-pile and slept
again.
In
the morning the mother of Gudu's betrothed came out to milk her goats, and on
going to the bushes where the largest one seemed entangled, she found out the
trick. She made such lament that the people of the village came running, and
Gudu and Isuro jumped up also, and pretended to be as surprised and interested
as the rest. But they must have looked guilty after all, for suddenly an old
man pointed to them, and cried:
'Those
are thieves.' And at the sound of his voice the big Gudu trembled all over.
'How
dare you say such things? I defy you to prove it,' answered Isuro boldly. And
he danced forward, and turned head over heels, and shook himself before them
all.
'I
spoke hastily; you are innocent,' said the old man; 'but now let the baboon do
likewise.' And when Gudu began to jump the goat's bones rattled and the people
cried: 'It is Gudu who is the goat-slayer!' But Gudu answered:
'Nay,
I did not kill your goat; it was Isuro, and he ate the meat, and hung the bones
round my neck. So it is he who should die!' And the people looked at each
other, for they knew not what to believe. At length one man said:
'Let
them both die, but they may choose their own deaths.'
Then
Isuro answered:
'If
we must die, put us in the place where the wood is cut, and heap it up all
round us, so that we cannot escape, and set fire to the wood; and if one is
burned and the other is not, then he that is burned is the goat-slayer.'
And
the people did as Isuro had said. But Isuro knew of a hole under the wood-pile,
and when the fire was kindled he ran into the hole, but Gudu died there.
When
the fire had burned itself out and only ashes were left where the wood had
been, Isuro came out of his hole, and said to the people:
'Lo!
did I not speak well? He who killed your goat is among those ashes.'
[Mashona
Story.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f05]
Ian,
the Soldier's Son
There
dwelt a knight in Grianaig of the land of the West, who had three daughters,
and for goodness and beauty they had not their like in all the isles. All the
people loved them, and loud was the weeping when one day, as the three maidens
sat on the rocks on the edge of the sea, dipping their feet in the water, there
arose a great beast from under the waves and swept them away beneath the ocean.
And none knew whither they had gone, or how to seek them.
Now
there lived in a town a few miles off a soldier who had three sons, fine youths
and strong, and the best players at shinny in that country. At Christmastide
that year, when families met together and great feasts were held, Ian, the
youngest of the three brothers, said:
'Let
us have a match at shinny on the lawn of the knight of Grianaig, for his lawn
is wider and the grass smoother than ours.'
But
the others answered:
'Nay,
for he is in sorrow, and he will think of the games that we have played there
when his daughters looked on.'
'Let
him be pleased or angry as he will,' said Ian; 'we will drive our ball on his
lawn to-day.'
And
so it was done, and Ian won three games from his brothers. But the knight
looked out of his window, and was wroth; and bade his men bring the youths
before him. When he stood in his hall and beheld them, his heart was softened
somewhat; but his face was angry as he asked:
'Why
did you choose to play shinny in front of my castle when you knew full well
that the remembrance of my daughters would come back to me? The pain which you
have made me suffer you shall suffer also.'
'Since
we have done you wrong,' answered Ian, the youngest, 'build us a ship, and we
will go and seek your daughters. Let them be to windward, or to leeward, or
under the four brown boundaries of the sea, we will find them before a year and
a day goes by, and will carry them back to Grianaig.'
In
seven days the ship was built, and great store of food and wine placed in her.
And the three brothers put her head to the sea and sailed away, and in seven
days the ship ran herself on to a beach of white sand, and they all went
ashore. They had none of them ever seen that land before, and looked about
them. Then they saw that, a short way from them, a number of men were working
on a rock, with one man standing over them.
'What
place is this?' asked the eldest brother. And the man who was standing by made
answer:
'This
is the place where dwell the three daughters of the knight of Grianaig, who are
to be wedded to-morrow to three giants.'
'How
can we find them?' asked the young man again. And the overlooker answered:
'To
reach the daughters of the knight of Grianaig you must get into this basket,
and be drawn by a rope up the face of this rock.'
'Oh,
that is easily done,' said the eldest brother, jumping into the basket, which
at once began to move--up, and up, and up--till he had gone about half-way,
when a fat black raven flew at him and pecked him till he was nearly blind, so
that he was forced to go back the way he had come.
After
that the second brother got into the creel; but he fared no better, for the
raven flew upon him, and he returned as his brother had done.
'Now
it is my turn,' said Ian. But when he was halfway up the raven set upon him
also.
'Quick!
quick!' cried Ian to the men who held the rope. 'Quick! quick! or I shall be
blinded!' And the men pulled with all their might, and in another moment Ian
was on top, and the raven behind him. 'Will you give me a piece of tobacco?'
asked the raven, who was now quite quiet.
'You
rascal! Am I to give you tobacco for trying to peck my eyes out?' answered Ian.
'That
was part of my duty,' replied the raven; 'but give it to me, and I will prove a
good friend to you.' So Ian broke off a piece of tobacco and gave it to him.
The raven hid it under his wing, and then went on; 'Now I will take you to the
house of the big giant, where the knight's daughter sits sewing, sewing, till
even her thimble is wet with tears.' And the raven hopped before him till they
reached a large house, the door of which stood open. They entered and passed
through one hall after the other, until they found the knight's daughter, as
the bird had said.
'What
brought you here?' asked she. And Ian made answer:
'Why
may I not go where you can go?'
'I
was brought hither by a giant,' replied she.
'I
know that,' said Ian; 'but tell me where the giant is, that I may find him.'
'He
is on the hunting hill,' answered she; 'and nought will bring him home save a
shake of the iron chain which hangs outside the gate. But, there, neither to
leeward, nor to windward, nor in the four brown boundaries of the sea, is there
any man that can hold battle against him, save only Ian, the soldier's son, and
he is now but sixteen years old, and how shall he stand against the giant?'
'In
the land whence I have come there are many men with the strength of Ian,'
answered he. And he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he could not move
it, and fell on to his knees. At that he rose swiftly, and gathering up his
strength, he seized the chain, and this time he shook it so that the link
broke. And the giant heard it on the hunting hill, and lifted his head,
thinking--
'It
sounds like the noise of Ian, the soldier's son,' said he; 'but as yet he is
only sixteen years old. Still, I had better look to it.' And home he came.
'Are
you Ian, the soldier's son?' he asked, as he entered the castle.
'No,
of a surety,' answered the youth, who had no wish that they should know him.
'Then
who are you in the leeward, or in the windward, or in the four brown boundaries
of the sea, who are able to move my battle-chain?'
'That
will be plain to you after wrestling with me as I wrestle with my mother. And
one time she got the better of me, and two times she did not.'
So
they wrestled, and twisted and strove with each other till the giant forced Ian
to his knee.
'You
are the stronger,' said Ian; and the giant answered:
'All
men know that!' And they took hold of each other once more, and at last Ian
threw the giant, and wished that the raven were there to help him. No sooner
had he wished his wish than the raven came.
'Put
your hand under my right wing and you will find a knife sharp enough to take
off his head,' said the raven. And the knife was so sharp that it cut off the
giant's head with a blow.
'Now
go and tell the daughter of the king of Grianaig; but take heed lest you listen
to her words, and promise to go no further, for she will seek to help you.
Instead, seek the middle daughter, and when you have found her, you shall give
me a piece of tobacco for reward.'
'Well
have you earned the half of all I have,' answered Ian. But the raven shook his
head.
'You
know only what has passed, and nothing of what lies before. If you would not
fail, wash yourself in clean water, and take balsam from a vessel on top of the
door, and rub it over your body, and to-morrow you will be as strong as many
men, and I will lead you to the dwelling of the middle one.'
Ian
did as the raven bade him, and in spite of the eldest daughter's entreaties, he
set out to seek her next sister. He found her where she was seated sewing, her
very thimble wet from the tears which she had shed.
'What
brought you here?' asked the second sister.
'Why
may I not go where you can go?' answered he; 'and why are you weeping?'
'Because
in one day I shall be married to the giant who is on the hunting hill.'
'How
can I get him home?' asked Ian.
'Nought
will bring him but a shake of that iron chain which hangs outside the gate. But
there is neither to leeward, nor to westward, nor in the four brown boundaries
of the sea, any man that can hold battle with him, save Ian, the soldier's son,
and he is now but sixteen years of age.'
'In
the land whence I have come there are many men with the strength of Ian,' said
he. And he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he could not move it, and
fell on his knees. At that he rose to his feet, and gathering up his strength
mightily, he seized the chain, and this time he shook it so that three links
broke. And the second giant heard it on the hunting hill, and lifted his head,
thinking--
'It
sounds like the noise of Ian, the soldier's son,' said he; 'but as yet he is
only sixteen years old. Still, I had better look to it.' And home he came.
'Are
you Ian, the soldier's son?' he asked, as he entered the castle.
'No,
of a surety,' answered the youth, who had no wish that this giant should know
him either; 'but I will wrestle with you as if I were he.'
Then
they seized each other by the shoulder, and the giant threw him on his two
knees. 'You are the stronger,' cried Ian; 'but I am not beaten yet.' And rising
to his feet, he threw his arms round the giant.
Backwards
and forwards they swayed, and first one was uppermost and then the other; but
at length Ian worked his leg round the giant's and threw him to the ground.
Then he called to the raven, and the raven came flapping towards him, and said:
'Put your hand under my right wing, and you will find there a knife sharp
enough to take off his head.' And sharp indeed it was, for with a single blow,
the giant's head rolled from his body.
'Now
wash yourself with warm water, and rub yourself over with oil of balsam, and
to-morrow you will be as strong as many men. But beware of the words of the
knight's daughter, for she is cunning, and will try to keep you at her side. So
farewell; but first give me a piece of tobacco.'
'That
I will gladly,' answered Ian breaking off a large bit.
He
washed and rubbed himself that night, as the raven had told him, and the next
morning he entered the chamber where the knight's daughter was sitting.
'Abide
here with me,' she said, 'and be my husband. There is silver and gold in plenty
in the castle.' But he took no heed, and went on his way till he reached the
castle where the knight's youngest daughter was sewing in the hall. And tears
dropped from her eyes on to her thimble.
'What
brought you here?' asked she. And Ian made answer:
'Why
may I not go where you can go?'
'I
was brought hither by a giant.'
'I
know full well,' said he.
'Are
you Ian, the soldier's son?' asked she again. And again he answered:
'Yes,
I am; but tell me, why are you weeping?'
'To-morrow
the giant will return from the hunting hill, and I must marry him,' she sobbed.
And Ian took no heed, and only said: 'How can I bring him home?'
'Shake
the iron chain that hangs outside the gate.'
And
Ian went out, and gave such a pull to the chain that he fell down at full
length from the force of the shake. But in a moment he was on his feet again,
and seized the chain with so much strength that four links came off in his
hand. And the giant heard him in the hunting hill, as he was putting the game
he had killed into a bag.
'In
the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of the sea, there
is none who could give my chain a shake save only Ian, the soldier's son. And
if he has reached me, then he has left my two brothers dead behind him.' With
that he strode back to the castle, the earth trembling under him as he went.
'Are
you Ian, the soldier's son?' asked he. And the youth answered:
'No,
of a surety.'
'Then
who are you in the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of
the sea, who are able to shake my battle chain? There is only Ian, the
soldier's son, who can do this, and he is but now sixteen years old.
'I
will show you who I am when you have wrestled with me,' said Ian. And they
threw their arms round each other, and the giant forced Ian on to his knees;
but in a moment he was up again, and crooking his leg round the shoulders of
the giant, he threw him heavily to the ground. 'Stumpy black raven, come
quick!' cried he; and the raven came, and beat the giant about the head with
his wings, so that he could not get up. Then he bade Ian take out a sharp knife
from under his feathers, which he carried with him for cutting berries, and Ian
smote off the giant's head with it. And so sharp was that knife that, with one
blow, the giant's head rolled on the ground.
'Rest
now this night also,' said the raven, 'and to-morrow you shall take the
knight's three daughters to the edge of the rock that leads to the lower world.
But take heed to go down first yourself, and let them follow after you. And
before I go you shall give me a piece of tobacco.'
'Take
it all,' answered Ian, 'for well have you earned it.'
'No;
give me but a piece. You know what is behind you, but you have no knowledge of
what is before you.' And picking up the tobacco in his beak, the raven flew
away.
So
the next morning the knight's youngest daughter loaded asses with all the
silver and gold to be found in the castle, and she set out with Ian the
soldier's son for the house where her second sister was waiting to see what
would befall. She also had asses laden with precious things to carry away, and
so had the eldest sister, when they reached the castle where she had been kept
a prisoner. Together they all rode to the edge of the rock, and then Ian lay
down and shouted, and the basket was drawn up, and in it they got one by one,
and were let down to the bottom. When the last one was gone, Ian should have
gone also, and left the three sisters to come after him; but he had forgotten
the raven's warning, and bade them go first, lest some accident should happen.
Only, he begged the youngest sister to let him keep the little gold cap which,
like the others, she wore on her head; and then he helped them, each in her
turn, into the basket.
Long
he waited, but wait as he might, the basket never came back, for in their joy
at being free the knight's daughters had forgotten all about Ian, and had set
sail in the ship that had brought him and his brothers to the land of Grianaig.
At
last he began to understand what had happened to him, and while he was taking
counsel with himself what had best be done, the raven came to him.
'You
did not heed my words,' he said gravely.
'No,
I did not, and therefore am I here,' answered Ian, bowing his head.
'The
past cannot be undone,' went on the raven. 'He that will not take counsel will
take combat. This night, you will sleep in the giant's castle. And now you
shall give me a piece of tobacco.'
'I
will. But, I pray you, stay in the castle with me.'
'That
I may not do, but on the morrow I will come.'
And
on the morrow he did, and he bade Ian go to the giant's stable where stood a
horse to whom it mattered nothing if she journeyed over land or sea.
'But
be careful,' he added, 'how you enter the stable, for the door swings without
ceasing to and fro, and if it touches you, it will cause you to cry out. I will
go first and show you the way.'
'Go,'
said Ian. And the raven gave a bob and a hop, and thought he was quite safe,
but the door slammed on a feather of his tail, and he screamed loudly.
Then
Ian took a run backwards, and a run forwards, and made a spring; but the door
caught one of his feet, and he fell fainting on the stable floor. Quickly the
raven pounced on him, and picked him up in his beak and claws, and carried him
back to the castle, where he laid ointments on his foot till it was as well as
ever it was.
'Now
come out to walk,' said the raven, 'but take heed that you wonder not at aught
you may behold; neither shall you touch anything. And, first, give me a piece
of tobacco.'
Many
strange things did Ian behold in that island, more than he had thought for. In
a glen lay three heroes stretched on their backs, done to death by three spears
that still stuck in their breasts. But he kept his counsel and spake nothing,
only he pulled out the spears, and the men sat up and said:
'You
are Ian the soldier's son, and a spell is laid upon you to travel in our
company, to the cave of the black fisherman.'
So
together they went till they reached the cave, and one of the men entered, to
see what should be found there. And he beheld a hag, horrible to look upon,
seated on a rock, and before he could speak, she struck him with her club, and
changed him into a stone; and in like manner she dealt with the other three. At
the last Ian entered.
'These
men are under spells,' said the witch, 'and alive they can never be till you
have anointed them with the water which you must fetch from the island of Big
Women. See that you do not tarry.' And Ian turned away with a sinking heart,
for he would fain have followed the youngest daughter of the knight of
Grianaig.
'You
did not obey my counsel,' said the raven, hopping towards him, 'and so trouble
has come upon you. But sleep now, and to-morrow you shall mount the horse which
is in the giant's stable, that can gallop over sea and land. When you reach the
island of Big Women, sixteen boys will come to meet you, and will offer the
horse food, and wish to take her saddle and bridle from her. But see that they
touch her not, and give her food yourself, and yourself lead her into the
stable, and shut the door. And be sure that for every turn of the lock given by
the sixteen stable lads you give one. And now you shall break me off a piece of
tobacco.'
The
next morning Ian arose, and led the horse from the stable, without the door
hurting him, and he rode across the sea to the island of the Big Women, where
the sixteen stable lads met him, and each one offered to take his horse, and to
feed her, and to put her into the stable. But Ian only answered:
'I
myself will put her in and will see to her.' And thus he did. And while he was
rubbing her sides the horse said to him:
'Every
kind of drink will they offer you, but see you take none, save whey and water
only.' And so it fell out; and when the sixteen stable-boys saw that he would
drink nothing, they drank it all themselves, and one by one lay stretched
around the board.
Then
Ian felt pleased in his heart that he had withstood their fair words, and he
forgot the counsel that the horse had likewise given him saying:
'Beware
lest you fall asleep, and let slip the chance of getting home again'; for while
the lads were sleeping sweet music reached his ears, and he slept also.
When
this came to pass the steed broke through the stable door, and kicked him and
woke him roughly.
'You
did not heed my counsel,' said she; 'and who knows if it is not too late to win
over the sea? But first take that sword which hangs on the wall, and cut off
the heads of the sixteen grooms.'
Filled
with shame at being once more proved heedless, Ian arose and did as the horse
bade him. Then he ran to the well and poured some of the water into a leather
bottle, and jumping on the horse's back rode over the sea to the island where
the raven was waiting for him.
'Lead
the horse into the stable,' said the raven, 'and lie down yourself to sleep,
for to-morrow you must make the heroes to live again, and must slay the hag.
And have a care not to be so foolish to-morrow as you were to-day.'
'Stay
with me for company,' begged Ian; but the raven shook his head, and flew away.
In
the morning Ian awoke, and hastened to the cave where the old hag was sitting,
and he struck her dead as she was, before she could cast spells on him. Next he
sprinkled the water over the heroes, who came to life again, and together they
all journeyed to the other side of the island, and there the raven met them.
'At
last you have followed the counsel that was given you,' said the raven; 'and
now, having learned wisdom, you may go home again to Grianaig. There you will
find that the knight's two eldest daughters are to be wedded this day to your
two brothers, and the youngest to the chief of the men at the rock. But her
gold cap you shall give to me and, if you want it, you have only to think of me
and I will bring it to you. And one more warning I give you. If anyone asks you
whence you came, answer that you have come from behind you; and if anyone asks
you whither you are going, say that you are going before you.'
So
Ian mounted the horse and set her face to the sea and her back to the shore,
and she was off, away and away till she reached the church of Grianaig, and
there, in a field of grass, beside a well of water, he leaped down from his
saddle.
'Now,'
the horse said to him, 'draw your sword and cut off my head.' But Ian answered:
'Poor
thanks would that be for all the help I have had from you.'
'It
is the only way that I can free myself from the spells that were laid by the
giants on me and the raven; for I was a girl and he was a youth wooing me! So
have no fears, but do as I have said.'
Then
Ian drew his sword as she bade him, and cut off her head, and went on his way without
looking backwards. As he walked he saw a woman standing at her house door. She
asked him whence he had come, and he answered as the raven had told him, that
he came from behind. Next she inquired whither he was going, and this time he
made reply that he was going on before him, but that he was thirsty and would
like a drink.
'You
are an impudent fellow,' said the woman; 'but you shall have a drink.' And she
gave him some milk, which was all she had till her husband came home.
'Where
is your husband?' asked Ian, and the woman answered him:
'He
is at the knight's castle trying to fashion gold and silver into a cap for the
youngest daughter, like unto the caps that her sisters wear, such as are not to
be found in all this land. But, see, he is returning; and now we shall hear how
he has sped.'
At
that the man entered the gate, and beholding a strange youth, he said to him:
'What is your trade, boy?'
'I
am a smith,' replied Ian. And the man answered:
'Good
luck has befallen me, then, for you can help me to make a cap for the knight's
daughter.'
'You
cannot make that cap, and you know it,' said Ian.
'Well,
I must try,' replied the man, 'or I shall be hanged on a tree; so it were a
good deed to help me.'
'I
will help you if I can,' said Ian; 'but keep the gold and silver for yourself,
and lock me into the smithy to-night, and I will work my spells.' So the man,
wondering to himself, locked him in.
As
soon as the key was turned in the lock Ian wished for the raven, and the raven
came to him, carrying the cap in his mouth.
'Now
take my head off,' said the raven. But Ian answered:
'Poor
thanks were that for all the help you have given me.'
'It
is the only thanks you can give me,' said the raven, 'for I was a youth like
yourself before spells were laid on me.'
Then
Ian drew his sword and cut off the head of the raven, and shut his eyes so that
he might see nothing. After that he lay down and slept till morning dawned, and
the man came and unlocked the door and shook the sleeper.
'Here
is the cap,' said Ian drowsily, drawing it from under his pillow. And he fell
asleep again directly.
The
sun was high in the heavens when he woke again, and this time he beheld a tall,
brown-haired youth standing by him.
'I
am the raven,' said the youth, 'and the spells are broken. But now get up and
come with me.'
Then
they two went together to the place where Ian had left the dead horse; but no
horse was there now, only a beautiful maiden.
'I
am the horse,' she said, 'and the spells are broken'; and she and the youth
went away together.
In
the meantime the smith had carried the cap to the castle, and bade a servant
belonging to the knight's youngest daughter bear it to her mistress. But when
the girl's eyes fell on it, she cried out:
'He
speaks false; and if he does not bring me the man who really made the cap I
will hang him on the tree beside my window.'
The
servant was filled with fear at her words, and hastened and told the smith, who
ran as fast as he could to seek for Ian. And when he found him and brought him
into the castle, the girl was first struck dumb with joy; then she declared
that she would marry nobody else. At this some one fetched to her the knight of
Grianaig, and when Ian had told his tale, he vowed that the maiden was right,
and that his elder daughters should never wed with men who had not only taken
glory to themselves which did not belong to them, but had left the real doer of
the deeds to his fate.
And
the wedding guests said that the knight had spoken well; and the two elder
brothers were fain to leave the country, for no one would converse with them.
[From
Tales of the West Highlands.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f06]
The
Fox and the Wolf
At
the foot of some high mountains there was, once upon a time, a small village,
and a little way off two roads met, one of them going to the east and the other
to the west. The villagers were quiet, hard-working folk, who toiled in the
fields all day, and in the evening set out for home when the bell began to ring
in the little church. In the summer mornings they led out their flocks to
pasture, and were happy and contented from sunrise to sunset.
One
summer night, when a round full moon shone down upon the white road, a great
wolf came trotting round the corner.
'I
positively must get a good meal before I go back to my den,' he said to
himself; 'it is nearly a week since I have tasted anything but scraps, though
perhaps no one would think it to look at my figure! Of course there are plenty
of rabbits and hares in the mountains; but indeed one needs to be a greyhound
to catch them, and I am not so young as I was! If I could only dine off that
fox I saw a fortnight ago, curled up into a delicious hairy ball, I should ask
nothing better; I would have eaten her then, but unluckily her husband was
lying beside her, and one knows that foxes, great and small, run like the wind.
Really it seems as if there was not a living creature left for me to prey upon
but a wolf, and, as the proverb says: "One wolf does not bite
another." However, let us see what this village can produce. I am as
hungry as a schoolmaster.'
Now,
while these thoughts were running through the mind of the wolf, the very fox he
had been thinking of was galloping along the other road.
'The
whole of this day I have listened to those village hens clucking till I could
bear it no longer,' murmured she as she bounded along, hardly seeming to touch
the ground. 'When you are fond of fowls and eggs it is the sweetest of all
music. As sure as there is a sun in heaven I will have some of them this night,
for I have grown so thin that my very bones rattle, and my poor babies are
crying for food.' And as she spoke she reached a little plot of grass, where
the two roads joined, and flung herself under a tree to take a little rest, and
to settle her plans. At this moment the wolf came up.
At
the sight of the fox lying within his grasp his mouth began to water, but his
joy was somewhat checked when he noticed how thin she was. The fox's quick ears
heard the sound of his paws, though they were soft as velvet, and turning her
head she said politely:
'Is
that you, neighbour? What a strange place to meet in! I hope you are quite
well?'
'Quite
well as regards my health,' answered the wolf, whose eye glistened greedily,
'at least, as well as one can be when one is very hungry. But what is the
matter with you? A fortnight ago you were as plump as heart could wish!'
'I
have been ill--very ill,' replied the fox, 'and what you say is quite true. A
worm is fat in comparison with me.'
'He
is. Still, you are good enough for me; for "to the hungry no bread is
hard."'
'Oh,
you are always joking! I'm sure you are not half as hungry as I!'
'That
we shall soon see,' cried the wolf, opening his huge mouth and crouching for a
spring.
'What
are you doing?' exclaimed the fox, stepping backwards.
'What
am I doing? What I am going to do is to make my supper off you, in less time
than a cock takes to crow.'
'Well,
I suppose you must have your joke,' answered the fox lightly, but never
removing her eye from the wolf, who replied with a snarl which showed all his
teeth:
'I
don't want to joke, but to eat!'
'But
surely a person of your talents must perceive that you might eat me to the very
last morsel and never know that you had swallowed anything at all!'
'In
this world the cleverest people are always the hungriest,' replied the wolf.
'Ah!
how true that is; but--'
'I
can't stop to listen to your "buts" and "yets,"' broke in
the wolf rudely; 'let us get to the point, and the point is that I want to eat
you and not talk to you.'
'Have
you no pity for a poor mother?' asked the fox, putting her tail to her eyes,
but peeping slily out of them all the same.
'I
am dying of hunger,' answered the wolf, doggedly; 'and you know,' he added with
a grin, 'that charity begins at home.'
'Quite
so,' replied the fox; 'it would be unreasonable of me to object to your
satisfying your appetite at my expense. But if the fox resigns herself to the
sacrifice, the mother offers you one last request.'
'Then
be quick and don't waste my time, for I can't wait much longer. What is it you
want?'
'You
must know,' said the fox, 'that in this village there is a rich man who makes
in the summer enough cheeses to last him for the whole year, and keeps them in
an old well, now dry, in his courtyard. By the well hang two buckets on a pole
that were used, in former days, to draw up water. For many nights I have crept
down to the palace, and have lowered myself in the bucket, bringing home with
me enough cheese to feed the children. All I beg of you is to come with me,
and, instead of hunting chickens and such things, I will make a good meal off
cheese before I die.'
'But
the cheeses may be all finished by now?'
'If
you were only to see the quantities of them!' laughed the fox. 'And even if
they were finished, there would always be ME to eat.'
'Well,
I will come. Lead the way, but I warn you that if you try to escape or play any
tricks you are reckoning without your host-- that is to say, without my legs,
which are as long as yours!'
All
was silent in the village, and not a light was to be seen but that of the moon,
which shone bright and clear in the sky. The wolf and the fox crept softly
along, when suddenly they stopped and looked at each other; a savoury smell of
frying bacon reached their noses, and reached the noses of the sleeping dogs,
who began to bark greedily.
'Is
it safe to go on, think you?' asked the wolf in a whisper. And the fox shook
her head.
'Not
while the dogs are barking,' said she; 'someone might come out to see if
anything was the matter.' And she signed to the wolf to curl himself up in the
shadow beside her.
In
about half an hour the dogs grew tired of barking, or perhaps the bacon was
eaten up and there was no smell to excite them. Then the wolf and the fox
jumped up, and hastened to the foot of the wall.
'I
am lighter than he is,' thought the fox to herself, 'and perhaps if I make
haste I can get a start, and jump over the wall on the other side before he
manages to spring over this one.' And she quickened her pace. But if the wolf
could not run he could jump, and with one bound he was beside his companion.
'What
were you going to do, comrade?'
'Oh,
nothing,' replied the fox, much vexed at the failure of her plan.
'I
think if I were to take a bit out of your haunch you would jump better,' said
the wolf, giving a snap at her as he spoke. The fox drew back uneasily.
'Be
careful, or I shall scream,' she snarled. And the wolf, understanding all that
might happen if the fox carried out her threat, gave a signal to his companion
to leap on the wall, where he immediately followed her.
Once
on the top they crouched down and looked about them. Not a creature was to be
seen in the courtyard, and in the furthest corner from the house stood the
well, with its two buckets suspended from a pole, just as the fox had described
it. The two thieves dragged themselves noiselessly along the wall till they
were opposite the well, and by stretching out her neck as far as it would go
the fox was able to make out that there was only very little water in the
bottom, but just enough to reflect the moon, big, and round and yellow.
'How
lucky!' cried she to the wolf. 'There is a huge cheese about the size of a mill
wheel. Look! look! did you ever see anything so beautiful!'
'Never!'
answered the wolf, peering over in his turn, his eyes glistening greedily, for
he imagined that the moon's reflection in the water was really a cheese.
'And
now, unbeliever, what have you to say?' and the fox laughed gently.
'That
you are a woman--I mean a fox--of your word,' replied the wolf.
'Well,
then, go down in that bucket and eat your fill,' said the fox.
'Oh,
is that your game?' asked the wolf, with a grin. 'No! no! The person who goes
down in the bucket will be you! And if you don't go down your head will go
without you!'
'Of
course I will go down, with the greatest pleasure,' answered the fox, who had
expected the wolf's reply.
'And
be sure you don't eat all the cheese, or it will be the worse for you,'
continued the wolf. But the fox looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
'Farewell,
suspicious one!' she said sadly. And climbed into the bucket.
In
an instant she had reached the bottom of the well, and found that the water was
not deep enough to cover her legs.
'Why,
it is larger and richer than I thought,' cried she, turning towards the wolf,
who was leaning over the wall of the well.
'Then
be quick and bring it up,' commanded the wolf.
'How
can I, when it weighs more than I do?' asked the fox.
'If
it is so heavy bring it in two bits, of course,' said he.
'But
I have no knife,' answered the fox. 'You will have to come down yourself, and
we will carry it up between us.'
'And
how am I to come down?' inquired the wolf.
'Oh,
you are really very stupid! Get into the other bucket that is nearly over your
head.'
The
wolf looked up, and saw the bucket hanging there, and with some difficulty he
climbed into it. As he weighed at least four times as much as the fox the
bucket went down with a jerk, and the other bucket, in which the fox was
seated, came to the surface.
As
soon as he understood what was happening, the wolf began to speak like an angry
wolf, but was a little comforted when he remembered that the cheese still
remained to him.
'But
where is the cheese?' he asked of the fox, who in her turn was leaning over the
parapet watching his proceedings with a smile.
'The
cheese?' answered the fox; 'why I am taking it home to my babies, who are too
young to get food for themselves.'
'Ah,
traitor!' cried the wolf, howling with rage. But the fox was not there to hear
this insult, for she had gone off to a neighbouring fowl-house, where she had
noticed some fat young chickens the day before.
'Perhaps
I did treat him rather badly,' she said to herself. 'But it seems getting
cloudy, and if there should be heavy rain the other bucket will fill and sink
to the bottom, and his will go up--at least it may!'
[From
Cuentos Populares, por Antonio de Trueba.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f07]
How
Ian Direach Got the Blue Falcon
Long
ago a king and queen ruled over the islands of the west, and they had one son,
whom they loved dearly. The boy grew up to be tall and strong and handsome, and
he could run and shoot, and swim and dive better than any lad of his own age in
the country. Besides, he knew how to sail about, and sing songs to the harp,
and during the winter evenings, when everyone was gathered round the huge hall
fire shaping bows or weaving cloth, Ian Direach would tell them tales of the
deeds of his fathers.
So
the time slipped by till Ian was almost a man, as they reckoned men in those
days, and then his mother the queen died. There was great mourning throughout
all the isles, and the boy and his father mourned her bitterly also; but before
the new year came the king had married another wife, and seemed to have
forgotten his old one. Only Ian remembered.
On
a morning when the leaves were yellow in the trees of the glen, Ian slung his
bow over his shoulder, and filling his quiver with arrows, went on to the hill
in search of game. But not a bird was to be seen anywhere, till at length a
blue falcon flew past him, and raising his bow he took aim at her. His eye was
straight and his hand steady, but the falcon's flight was swift, and he only
shot a feather from her wing. As the sun was now low over the sea he put the
feather in his game bag, and set out homewards.
'Have
you brought me much game to-day?' asked his stepmother as he entered the hall.
'Nought
save this,' he answered, handing her the feather of the blue falcon, which she
held by the tip and gazed at silently. Then she turned to Ian and said:
'I
am setting it on you as crosses and as spells, and as the fall of the year!
That you may always be cold, and wet and dirty, and that your shoes may ever
have pools in them, till you bring me hither the blue falcon on which that
feather grew.'
'If
it is spells you are laying I can lay them too,' answered Ian Direach; 'and you
shall stand with one foot on the great house and another on the castle, till I
come back again, and your face shall be to the wind, from wheresoever it shall
blow.' Then he went away to seek the bird, as his stepmother bade him; and,
looking homewards from the hill, he saw the queen standing with one foot on the
great house, and the other on the castle, and her face turned towards whatever
tempest should blow.
On
he journeyed, over hills, and through rivers till he reached a wide plain, and
never a glimpse did he catch of the falcon. Darker and darker it grew, and the
small birds were seeking their nests, and at length Ian Direach could see no
more, and he lay down under some bushes and sleep came to him. And in his dream
a soft nose touched him, and a warm body curled up beside him, and a low voice
whispered to him:
'Fortune
is against you, Ian Direach; I have but the cheek and the hoof of a sheep to
give you, and with these you must be content.' With that Ian Direach awoke, and
beheld Gille Mairtean the fox.
Between
them they kindled a fire, and ate their supper. Then Gille Mairtean the fox
bade Ian Direach lie down as before, and sleep till morning. And in the
morning, when he awoke, Gille Mairtean said:
'The
falcon that you seek is in the keeping of the Giant of the Five Heads, and the
Five Necks, and the Five Humps. I will show you the way to his house, and I
counsel you to do his bidding, nimbly and cheerfully, and, above all, to treat
his birds kindly, for in this manner he may give you his falcon to feed and
care for. And when this happens, wait till the giant is out of his house; then
throw a cloth over the falcon and bear her away with you. Only see that not one
of her feathers touches anything within the house, or evil will befall you.'
'I
thank you for your counsel,' spake Ian Direach, 'and I will be careful to
follow it.' Then he took the path to the giant's house.
'Who
is there?' cried the giant, as someone knocked loudly on the door of his house.
'One
who seeks work as a servant,' answered Ian Direach.
'And
what can you do?' asked the giant again.
'I
can feed birds and tend pigs; I can feed and milk a cow, and also goats and
sheep, if you have any of these,' replied Ian Direach.
'Then
enter, for I have great need of such a one,' said the giant.
So
Ian Direach entered, and tended so well and carefully all the birds and beasts,
that the giant was better satisfied than ever he had been, and at length he
thought that he might even be trusted to feed the falcon. And the heart of Ian
was glad, and he tended the blue falcon till his fathers shone like the sky,
and the giant was well pleased; and one day he said to him:
'For
long my brothers on the other side of the mountain have besought me to visit
them, but never could I go for fear of my falcon. Now I think I can leave her
with you for one day, and before nightfall I shall be back again.'
Scarcely
was the giant out of sight next morning when Ian Direach seized the falcon, and
throwing a cloth over her head hastened with her to the door. But the rays of
the sun pierced through the thickness of the cloth, and as they passed the
doorpost she gave a spring, and the tip of one of her feathers touched the
post, which gave a scream, and brought the giant back in three strides. Ian
Direach trembled as he saw him; but the giant only said:
'If
you wish for my falcon you must first bring me the White Sword of Light that is
in the house of the Big Women of Dhiurradh.'
'And
where do they live?' asked Ian. But the giant answered:
'Ah,
that is for you to discover.' And Ian dared say no more, and hastened down to
the waste. There, as he hoped, he met his friend Gille Mairtean the fox, who
bade him eat his supper and lie down to sleep. And when he had wakened next
morning the fox said to him:
'Let
us go down to the shore of the sea.' And to the shore of the sea they went. And
after they had reached the shore, and beheld the sea stretching before them,
and the isle of Dhiurradh in the midst of it, the soul of Ian sank, and he
turned to Gille Mairtean and asked why he had brought him thither, for the
giant, when he had sent him, had known full well that without a boat he could
never find the Big Women.
'Do
not be cast down,' answered the fox, 'it is quite easy! I will change myself
into a boat, and you shall go on board me, and I will carry you over the sea to
the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh. Tell them that you are skilled in brightening
silver and gold, and in the end they will take you as servant, and if you are
careful to please them they will give you the White Sword of Light to make
bright and shining. But when you seek to steal it, take heed that its sheath
touches nothing inside the house, or ill will befall you.'
So
Ian Direach did all things as the fox had told him, and the Seven Big Women of
Dhiurradh took him for their servant, and for six weeks he worked so hard that
his seven mistresses said to each other: 'Never has a servant had the skill to
make all bright and shining like this one. Let us give him the White Sword of
Light to polish like the rest.'
Then
they brought forth the White Sword of Light from the iron closet where it hung,
and bade him rub it till he could see his face in the shining blade; and he did
so. But one day, when the Seven Big Women were out of the way, he bethought him
that the moment had come for him to carry off the sword, and, replacing it in
its sheath, he hoisted it on his shoulder. But just as he was passing through
the door the tip of the sheath touched it, and the door gave a loud shriek. And
the Big Women heard it, and came running back, and took the sword from him, and
said:
'If
it is our sword you want, you must first bring us the bay colt of the King of
Erin.'
Humbled
and ashamed, Ian Direach left the house, and sat by the side of the sea, and
soon Gille Mairtean the fox came to him.
'Plainly
I see that you have taken no heed to my words, Ian Direach,' spoke the fox.
'But eat first, and yet once more will I help you.'
At
these words the heart returned again to Ian Direach, and he gathered sticks and
made a fire and ate with Gille Mairtean the fox, and slept on the sand. At dawn
next morning Gille Mairtean said to Ian Direach:
'I
will change myself into a ship, and will bear you across the seas to Erin, to
the land where dwells the king. And you shall offer yourself to serve in his
stable, and to tend his horses, till at length so well content is he, that he
gives you the bay colt to wash and brush. But when you run away with her see
that nought except the soles of her hoofs touch anything within the palace
gates, or it will go ill with you.'
After
he had thus counselled Ian Direach, the fox changed himself into a ship, and
set sail for Erin. And the king of that country gave into Ian Direach's hands
the care of his horses, and never before did their skins shine so brightly or
was their pace so swift. And the king was well pleased, and at the end of a
month he sent for Ian and said to him:
'You
have given me faithful service, and now I will entrust you with the most
precious thing that my kingdom holds.' And when he had spoken, he led Ian
Direach to the stable where stood the bay colt. And Ian rubbed her and fed her,
and galloped with her all round the country, till he could leave one wind
behind him and catch the other which was in front.
'I
am going away to hunt,' said the king one morning while he was watching Ian
tend the bay colt in her stable. 'The deer have come down from the hill, and it
is time for me to give them chase.' Then he went away; and when he was no
longer in sight, Ian Direach led the bay colt out of the stable, and sprang on
her back. But as they rode through the gate, which stood between the palace and
the outer world, the colt swished her tail against the post, which shrieked
loudly. In a moment the king came running up, and he seized the colt's bridle.
'If
you want my bay colt, you must first bring me the daughter of the king of the
Franks.'
With
slow steps went Ian Direach down to the shore where Gille Mairtean the fox
awaited him.
'Plainly
I see that you have not done as I bid you, nor will you ever do it,' spoke
Gille Mairtean the fox; 'but I will help you yet again. for a third time I will
change myself into a ship, and we will sail to France.'
And
to France they sailed, and, as he was the ship, the Gille Mairtean sailed where
he would, and ran himself into the cleft of a rock, high on to the land. Then,
he commanded Ian Direach to go up to the king's palace, saying that he had been
wrecked, that his ship was made fast in a rock, and that none had been saved
but himself only.
Ian
Direach listened to the words of the fox, and he told a tale so pitiful, that
the king and queen, and the princess their daughter, all came out to hear it.
And when they had heard, nought would please them except to go down to the
shore and visit the ship, which by now was floating, for the tide was up. Torn
and battered was she, as if she had passed through many dangers, yet music of a
wondrous sweetness poured forth from within.
'Bring
hither a boat,' cried the princess, 'that I may go and see for myself the harp
that gives forth such music.' And a boat was brought, and Ian Direach stepped
in to row it to the side of the ship.
To
the further side he rowed, so that none could see, and when he helped the
princess on board he gave a push to the boat, so that she could not get back to
it again. And the music sounded always sweeter, though they could never see
whence it came, and sought it from one part of the vessel to another. When at
last they reached the deck and looked around them, nought of land could they
see, or anything save the rushing waters.
The
princess stood silent, and her face grew grim. At last she said:
'An
ill trick have you played me! What is this that you have done, and whither are
we going?'
'It
is a queen you will be,' answered Ian Direach, 'for the king of Erin has sent
me for you, and in return he will give me his bay colt, that I may take him to
the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh, in exchange for the White Sword of Light.
This I must carry to the giant of the Five Heads and Five Necks and Five Humps,
and, in place of it, he will bestow on me the blue falcon, which I have
promised my stepmother, so that she may free me from the spell which she has
laid on me.'
'I
would rather be wife to you,' answered the princess.
By-and-by
the ship sailed into a harbour on the coast of Erin, and cast anchor there. And
Gille Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach tell the princess that she must bide
yet a while in a cave amongst the rocks, for they had business on land, and
after a while they would return to her. Then they took a boat and rowed up to
some rocks, and as they touched the land Gille Mairtean changed himself into a
fair woman, who laughed, and said to Ian Direach, 'I will give the king a fine
wife.'
Now
the king of Erin had been hunting on the hill, and when he saw a strange ship
sailing towards the harbour, he guessed that it might be Ian Direach, and left
his hunting, and ran down to the hill to the stable. Hastily he led the bay
colt from his stall, and put the golden saddle on her back, and the silver
bridle over his head, and with the colt's bridle in his hand, he hurried to
meet the princess.
'I
have brought you the king of France's daughter,' said Ian Direach. And the king
of Erin looked at the maiden, and was well pleased, not knowing that it was
Gille Mairtean the fox. And he bowed low, and besought her to do him the honour
to enter the palace; and Gille Mairtean, as he went in, turned to look back at
Ian Direach, and laughed.
In
the great hall the king paused and pointed to an iron chest which stood in a
corner.
'In
that chest is the crown that has waited for you for many years,' he said, 'and
at last you have come for it.' And he stooped down to unlock the box.
In
an instant Gille Mairtean the fox had sprung on his back, and gave him such a
bite that he fell down unconscious. Quickly the fox took his own shape again,
and galloped away to the sea shore, where Ian Direach and the princess and the
bay colt awaited him.
'I
will become a ship,' cried Gille Mairtean, 'and you shall go on board me.' And
so he did, and Ian Direach let the bay colt into the ship and the princess went
after them, and they set sail for Dhiurradh. The wind was behind them, and very
soon they saw the rocks of Dhiurradh in front. Then spoke Gille Mairtean the
fox:
'Let
the bay colt and the king's daughter hide in these rocks, and I will change
myself into the colt, and go with you to the house of the Seven Big Women.'
Joy
filed the hearts of the Big Women when they beheld the bay colt led up to their
door by Ian Direach. And the youngest of them fetched the White Sword of Light,
and gave it into the hands of Ian Direach, who took off the golden saddle and
the silver bridle, and went down the hill with the sword to the place where the
princess and the real colt awaited him.
'Now
we shall have the ride that we have longed for!' cried the Seven Big Women; and
they saddled and bridled the colt, and the eldest one got upon the saddle. Then
the second sister sat on the back of the first, and the third on the back of
the second, and so on for the whole seven. And when they were all seated, the
eldest struck her side with a whip and the colt bounded forward. Over the moors
she flew, and round and round the mountains, and still the Big Women clung to
her and snorted with pleasure. At last she leapt high in the air, and came down
on top of Monadh the high hill, where the crag is. And she rested her fore feet
on the crag, and threw up her hind legs, and the Seven Big Women fell over the
crag, and were dead when they reached the bottom. And the colt laughed, and became
a fox again and galloped away to the sea shore, where Ian Direach, and the
princess and the real colt and the White Sword of Light were awaiting him.
'I
will make myself into a ship,' said Gille Mairtean the fox, 'and will carry you
and the princess, and the bay colt and the White Sword of Light, back to the
land.' And when the shore was reached, Gille Mairtean the fox took back his own
shape, and spoke to Ian Direach in this wise:
'Let
the princess and the White Sword of Light, and the bay colt, remain among the
rocks, and I will change myself into the likeness of the White Sword of Light,
and you shall bear me to the giant, and, instead, he will give you the blue
falcon.' And Ian Direach did as the fox bade him, and set out for the giant's
castle. From afar the giant beheld the blaze of the White Sword of Light, and
his heart rejoiced; and he took the blue falcon and put it in a basket, and
gave it to Ian Direach, who bore it swiftly away to the place where the
princess, and the bay colt, and the real Sword of Light were awaiting him.
So
well content was the giant to possess the sword he had coveted for many a year,
that he began at once to whirl it through the air, and to cut and slash with
it. For a little while Gille Mairtean let the giant play with him in this
manner; then he turned in the giant's hand, and cut through the Five Necks, so
that the Five Heads rolled on the ground. Afterwards he went back to Ian
Direach and said to him:
'Saddle
the colt with the golden saddle, and bridle her with the silver bridle, and
sling the basket with the falcon over your shoulders, and hold the White Sword
of Light with its back against your nose. Then mount the colt, and let the
princess mount behind you, and ride thus to your father's palace. But see that
the back of the sword is ever against your nose, else when your stepmother
beholds you, she will change you into a dry faggot. If, however, you do as I
bid you, she will become herself a bundle of sticks.'
Ian
Direach hearkened to the words of Gille Mairtean, and his stepmother fell as a
bundle of sticks before him; and he set fire to her, and was free from her
spells for ever. After that he married the princess, who was the best wife in
all the islands of the West. Henceforth he was safe from harm, for had he not
the bay colt who could leave one wind behind her and catch the other wind, and
the blue falcon to bring him game to eat, and the White Sword of Light to
pierce through his foes?
And
Ian Direach knew that all this he owed to Gille Mairtean the fox, and he made a
compact with him that he might choose any beast out of his herds, whenever
hunger seized him, and that henceforth no arrow should be let fly at him or at
any of his race. But Gille Mairtean the fox would take no reward for the help he
had given to Ian Direach, only his friendship. Thus all things prospered with
Ian Direach till he died.
[From
Tales of the West Highlands.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f08]
The
Ugly Duckling
It
was summer in the land of Denmark, and though for most of the year the country
looks flat and ugly, it was beautiful now. The wheat was yellow, the oats were
green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in, and from the old ruined house
which nobody lived in, down to the edge of the canal, was a forest of great
burdocks, so tall that a whole family of children might have dwelt in them and
never have been found out.
It
was under these burdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest, and was not
sitting all day on six pretty eggs. Five of them were white, but the sixth,
which was larger than the others, was of an ugly grey colour. The duck was
always puzzled about that egg, and how it came to be so different from the
rest. Other birds might have thought that when the duck went down in the
morning and evening to the water to stretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy
mother might have been on the watch, and have popped her egg into the nest. But
ducks are not clever at all, and are not quick at counting, so this duck did
not worry herself about the matter, but just took care that the big egg should
be as warm as the rest.
This
was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid, and, to begin with, she
was very pleased and proud, and laughed at the other mothers, who were always
neglecting their duties to gossip with each other or to take little extra swims
besides the two in the morning and evening that were necessary for health. But
at length she grew tired of sitting there all day. 'Surely eggs take longer
hatching than they did,' she said to herself; and she pined for a little
amusement also. Still, she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in
them to die none of her friends would ever speak to her again; so there she
stayed, only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the shells were
cracking--which may have been the very reason why they did not crack sooner.
She
had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and fifty times, when, to her joy,
she saw a tiny crack on two of them, and scrambling back to the nest she drew
the eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved for the whole of that
day. Next morning she was rewarded by noticing cracks in the whole five eggs,
and by midday two little yellow heads were poking out from the shells. This
encouraged her so much that, after breaking the shells with her bill, so that
the little creatures could get free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night
upon the nest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were empty, and ten
pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world.
Now
the duck had been carefully brought up, and did not like dirt, and, besides,
broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk upon; so she
pushed the rest out over the side, and felt delighted to have some company to
talk to till the big egg hatched. But day after day went on, and the big egg
showed no signs of cracking, and the duck grew more and more impatient, and
began to wish to consult her husband, who never came.
'I
can't think what is the matter with it,' the duck grumbled to her neighbour who
had called in to pay her a visit. 'Why I could have hatched two broods in the
time that this one has taken!'
'Let
me look at it,' said the old neighbour. 'Ah, I thought so; it is a turkey's
egg. Once, when I was young, they tricked me to sitting on a brood of turkey's
eggs myself, and when they were hatched the creatures were so stupid that
nothing would make them learn to swim. I have no patience when I think of it.'
'Well,
I will give it another chance,' sighed the duck, 'and if it does not come out
of its shell in another twenty-four hours, I will just leave it alone and teach
the rest of them to swim properly and to find their own food. I really can't be
expected to do two things at once.' And with a fluff of her feathers she pushed
the egg into the middle of the nest.
All
through the next day she sat on, giving up even her morning bath for fear that
a blast of cold might strike the big egg. In the evening, when she ventured to
peep, she thought she saw a tiny crack in the upper part of the shell. Filled
with hope, she went back to her duties, though she could hardly sleep all night
for excitement. When she woke with the first steaks of light she felt something
stirring under her. Yes, there it was at last; and as she moved, a big awkward
bird tumbled head foremost on the ground.
There
was no denying it was ugly, even the mother was forced to admit that to
herself, though she only said it was 'large' and 'strong.' 'You won't need any
teaching when you are once in the water,' she told him, with a glance of
surprise at the dull brown which covered his back, and at his long naked neck.
And indeed he did not, though he was not half so pretty to look at as the
little yellow balls that followed her.
When
they returned they found the old neighbour on the bank waiting for them to take
them into the duckyard. 'No, it is not a young turkey, certainly,' whispered
she in confidence to the mother, 'for though it is lean and skinny, and has no
colour to speak of, yet there is something rather distinguished about it, and
it holds its head up well.'
'It
is very kind of you to say so,' answered the mother, who by this time had some
secret doubts of its loveliness. 'Of course, when you see it by itself it is
all right, though it is different, somehow, from the others. But one cannot
expect all one's children to be beautiful!'
By
this time they had reached the centre of the yard, where a very old duck was
sitting, who was treated with great respect by all the fowls present.
'You
must go up and bow low before her,' whispered the mother to her children,
nodding her head in the direction of the old lady, 'and keep your legs well
apart, as you see me do. No well-bred duckling turns in its toes. It is a sign
of common parents.'
The
little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the movements of
their mother, and the old lady was quite pleased with them; but the rest of the
ducks looked on discontentedly, and said to each other:
'Oh,
dear me, here are ever so many more! The yard is full already; and did you ever
see anything quite as ugly as that great tall creature? He is a disgrace to any
brood. I shall go and chase him out!' So saying she put up her feathers, and
running to the big duckling bit his neck.
The
duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time he had felt any pain, and at
the sound his mother turned quickly. 'Leave him alone,' she said fiercely, 'or
I will send for his father. He was not troubling you.'
'No;
but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put up with him,' answered the
stranger. And though the duckling did not understand the meaning of the words,
he felt he was being blamed, and became more uncomfortable still when the old
Spanish duck who ruled the fowlyard struck in:
'It
certainly is a great pity he is so different from these beautiful darlings. If
he could only be hatched over again!'
The
poor little fellow drooped his head, and did not know where to look, but was
comforted when his mother answered:
'He
may not be quite as handsome as the others, but he swims better, and is very
strong; I am sure he will make his way in the world as well as anybody.'
'Well,
you must feel quite at home here,' said the old duck waddling off. And so they
did, all except the duckling, who was snapped at by everyone when they thought
his mother was not looking. Even the turkey-cock, who was so big, never passed
him without mocking words, and his brothers and sisters, who would not have
noticed any difference unless it had been put into their heads, soon became as
rude and unkind as the rest.
At
last he could bear it no longer, and one day he fancied he saw signs of his
mother turning against him too; so that night, when the ducks and hens were
still asleep, he stole away through an open door, and under cover of the
burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of the canal, till he reached a wide
grassy moor, full of soft marshy places where the reeds grew. Here he lay down,
but he was too tired and too frightened to fall asleep, and with the earliest
peep of the sun the reeds began to rustle, and he saw that he had blundered
into a colony of wild ducks. But as he could not run away again he stood up and
bowed politely.
'You
are ugly,' said the wild ducks, when they had looked him well over; 'but,
however, it is no business of ours, unless you wish to marry one of our
daughters, and that we should not allow.' And the duckling answered that he had
no idea of marrying anybody, and wanted nothing but to be left alone after his
long journey.
So
for two whole days he lay quietly among the reeds, eating such food as he could
find, and drinking the water of the moorland pool, till he felt himself quite
strong again. He wished he might stay were he was for ever, he was so comfortable
and happy, away from everyone, with nobody to bite him and tell him how ugly he
was.
He
was thinking these thoughts, when two young ganders caught sight of him as they
were having their evening splash among the reeds, looking for their supper.
'We
are getting tired of this moor,' they said, 'and to-morrow we think of trying
another, where the lakes are larger and the feeding better. Will you come with
us?'
'Is
it nicer than this?' asked the duckling doubtfully. And the words were hardly
out of his mouth, when 'Pif! pah!' and the two new-comers were stretched dead
beside him.
At
the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes flew into the air, and for a
few minutes the firing continued.
Luckily
for himself the duckling could not fly, and he floundered along through the
water till he could hide himself amidst some tall ferns which grew in a hollow.
But before he got there he met a huge creature on four legs, which he
afterwards knew to be a dog, who stood and gazed at him with a long red tongue
hanging out of his mouth. The duckling grew cold with terror, and tried to hide
his head beneath his little wings; but the dog snuffed at him and passed on,
and he was able to reach his place of shelter.
'I
am too ugly even for a dog to eat,' said he to himself. 'Well, that is a great
mercy.' And he curled himself up in the soft grass till the shots died away in
the distance.
When
all had been quiet for a long time, and there were only stars to see him, he
crept out and looked about him.
He
would never go near a pool again, never, thought he; and seeing that the moor
stretched far away in the opposite direction from which he had come, he marched
bravely on till he got to a small cottage, which seemed too tumbledown for the
stones to hold together many hours longer. Even the door only hung upon one
hinge, and as the only light in the room sprang from a tiny fire, the duckling
edged himself cautiously in, and lay down under a chair close to the broken
door, from which he could get out if necessary. But no one seemed to see him or
smell him; so he spend the rest of the night in peace.
Now
in the cottage dwelt an old woman, her cat, and a hen; and it was really they,
and not she, who were masters of the house. The old woman, who passed all her
days in spinning yarn, which she sold at the nearest town, loved both the cat
and the hen as her own children, and never contradicted them in any way; so it
was their grace, and not hers, that the duckling would have to gain.
It
was only next morning, when it grew light, that they noticed their visitor, who
stood trembling before them, with his eye on the door ready to escape at any
moment. They did not, however, appear very fierce, and the duckling became less
afraid as they approached him.
'Can
you lay eggs?' asked the hen. And the duckling answered meekly:
'No;
I don't know how.' Upon which the hen turned her back, and the cat came
forward.
'Can
you ruffle your fur when you are angry, or purr when you are pleased?' said
she. And again the duckling had to admit that he could do nothing but swim,
which did not seem of much use to anybody.
So
the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman, who was still in bed.
'Such
a useless creature has taken refuge here,' they said. 'It calls itself a
duckling; but it can neither lay eggs nor purr! What had we better do with it?'
'Keep
it, to be sure!' replied the old woman briskly. 'It is all nonsense about it
not laying eggs. Anyway, we will let it stay here for a bit, and see what happens.'
So
the duckling remained for three weeks, and shared the food of the cat and the
hen; but nothing in the way of eggs happened at all. Then the sun came out, and
the air grew soft, and the duckling grew tired of being in a hut, and wanted
with all his might to have a swim. And one morning he got so restless that even
his friends noticed it.
'What
is the matter?' asked the hen; and the duckling told her.
'I
am so longing for the water again. You can't think how delicious it is to put
your head under the water and dive straight to the bottom.'
'I
don't think I should enjoy it,' replied the hen doubtfully. 'And I don't think
the cat would like it either.' And the cat, when asked, agreed there was
nothing she would hate so much.
'I
can't stay here any longer, I Must get to the water,' repeated the duck. And
the cat and the hen, who felt hurt and offended, answered shortly:
'Very
well then, go.'
The
duckling would have liked to say good-bye, and thank them for their kindness,
as he was polite by nature; but they had both turned their backs on him, so he
went out of the rickety door feeling rather sad. But, in spite of himself, he
could not help a thrill of joy when he was out in the air and water once more,
and cared little for the rude glances of the creatures he met. For a while he
was quite happy and content; but soon the winter came on, and snow began to
fall, and everything to grow very wet and uncomfortable. And the duckling soon
found that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water, and quite another to
like being damp on land.
The
sun was setting one day, like a great scarlet globe, and the river, to the
duckling's vast bewilderment, was getting hard and slippery, when he heard a
sound of whirring wings, and high up in the air a flock of swans were flying.
They were as white as snow which had fallen during the night, and their long
necks with yellow bills were stretched southwards, for they were going--they
did not quite know whither--but to a land where the sun shone all day. Oh, if
he only could have gone with them! But that was not possible, of course; and
besides, what sort of companion could an ugly thing like him be to those
beautiful beings? So he walked sadly down to a sheltered pool and dived to the
very bottom, and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could dream
of. But, all the same, he knew it wasn't!
And
every morning it grew colder and colder, and the duckling had hard work to keep
himself warm. Indeed, it would be truer to say that he never was warm at all;
and at last, after one bitter night, his legs moved so slowly that the ice
crept closer and closer, and when the morning light broke he was caught fast,
as in a trap; and soon his senses went from him.
A
few hours more and the poor duckling's life had been ended. But, by good
fortune, a man was crossing the river on his way to his work, and saw in a
moment what had happened. He had on thick wooden shoes, and he went and stamped
so hard on the ice that it broke, and then he picked up the duckling and tucked
him under his sheepskin coat, where his frozen bones began to thaw a little.
Instead
of going on his work, the man turned back and took the bird to his children,
who gave him a warm mess to eat and put him in a box by the fire, and when they
came back from school he was much more comfortable than he had been since he
had left the old woman's cottage. They were kind little children, and wanted to
play with him; but, alas! the poor fellow had never played in his life, and
thought they wanted to tease him, and flew straight into the milk-pan, and then
into the butter-dish, and from that into the meal-barrel, and at last,
terrified at the noise and confusion, right out of the door, and hid himself in
the snow amongst the bushes at the back of the house.
He
never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent the rest of the winter. He
only knew that he was very miserable and that he never had enough to eat. But
by-and-by things grew better. The earth became softer, the sun hotter, the
birds sang, and the flowers once more appeared in the grass. When he stood up,
he felt different, somehow, from what he had done before he fell asleep among
the reeds to which he had wandered after he had escaped from the peasant's hut.
His body seemed larger, and his wings stronger. Something pink looked at him
from the side of a hill. He thought he would fly towards it and see what it
was.
Oh,
how glorious it felt to be rushing through the air, wheeling first one way and
then the other! He had never thought that flying could be like that! The
duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink cloud and found it was
made up of apple blossoms growing beside a cottage whose garden ran down to the
banks of the canal. He fluttered slowly to the ground and paused for a few
minutes under a thicket of syringas, and while he was gazing about him, there
walked slowly past a flock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so many
months ago. Fascinated, he watched them one by one step into the canal, and
float quietly upon the waters as if they were part of them.
'I
will follow them,' said the duckling to himself; 'ugly though I am, I would
rather be killed by them than suffer all I have suffered from cold and hunger,
and from the ducks and fowls who should have treated me kindly.' And flying
quickly down to the water, he swam after them as fast as he could.
It
did not take him long to reach them, for they had stopped to rest in a green
pool shaded by a tree whose branches swept the water. And directly they saw him
coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet him with cries of welcome,
which again the duckling hardly understood. He approached them glad, yet
trembling, and turning to one of the older birds, who by this time had left the
shade of the tree, he said:
'If
I am to die, I would rather you should kill me. I don't know why I was ever
hatched, for I am too ugly to live.' And as he spoke, he bowed his head and
looked down into the water.
Reflected
in the still pool he saw many white shapes, with long necks and golden bills,
and, without thinking, he looked for the dull grey body and the awkward skinny
neck. But no such thing was there. Instead, he beheld beneath him a beautiful
white swan!
'The
new one is the best of all,' said the children when they came down to feed the
swans with biscuit and cake before going to bed. 'His feathers are whiter and
his beak more golden than the rest.' And when he heard that, the duckling
thought that it was worth while having undergone all the persecution and
loneliness that he had passed through, as otherwise he would never have known
what it was to be really happy.
[Hans
Andersen.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f09]
The
Two Caskets
Far,
far away, in the midst of a pine forest, there lived a woman who had both a
daughter and a stepdaughter. Ever since her own daughter was born the mother
had given her all that she cried for, so she grew up to be as cross and
disagreeable as she was ugly. Her stepsister, on the other hand, had spent her
childhood in working hard to keep house for her father, who died soon after his
second marriage; and she was as much beloved by the neighbours for her goodness
and industry as she was for her beauty.
As
the years went on, the difference between the two girls grew more marked, and
the old woman treated her stepdaughter worse than ever, and was always on the
watch for some pretext for beating her, or depriving her of her food. Anything,
however foolish, was good enough for this, and one day, when she could think of
nothing better, she set both the girls to spin while sitting on the low wall of
the well.
'And
you had better mind what you do,' said she, 'for the one whose thread breaks
first shall be thrown to the bottom.'
But
of course she took good care that her own daughter's flax was fine and strong,
while the stepsister had only some coarse stuff, which no one would have
thought of using. As might be expected, in a very little while the poor girl's
thread snapped, and the old woman, who had been watching from behind a door,
seized her stepdaughter by her shoulders, and threw her into the well.
'That
is an end of you!' she said. But she was wrong, for it was only the beginning.
Down,
down, down went the girl--it seemed as if the well must reach to the very
middle of the earth; but at last her feet touched the ground, and she found
herself in a field more beautiful than even the summer pastures of her native
mountains. Trees waved in the soft breeze, and flowers of the brightest colours
danced in the grass. And though she was quite alone, the girl's heart danced
too, for she felt happier than she had since her father died. So she walked on
through the meadow till she came to an old tumbledown fence--so old that it was
a wonder it managed to stand up at all, and it looked as if it depended for
support on the old man's beard that climbed all over it.
The
girl paused for a moment as she came up, and gazed about for a place where she
might safely cross. But before she could move a voice cried from the fence:
'Do
not hurt me, little maiden; I am so old, so old, I have not much longer to
live.'
And
the maiden answered:
'No,
I will not hurt you; fear nothing.' And then seeing a spot where the clematis
grew less thickly than in other places, she jumped lightly over.
'May
all go well with thee,' said the fence, as the girl walked on.
She
soon left the meadow and turned into a path which ran between two flowery
hedges. Right in front of her stood an oven, and through its open door she
could see a pile of white loaves.
'Eat
as many loaves as you like, but do me no harm, little maiden,' cried the oven.
And the maiden told her to fear nothing, for she never hurt anything, and was
very grateful for the oven's kindness in giving her such a beautiful white
loaf. When she had finished it, down to the last crumb, she shut the oven door
and said: 'Good-morning.'
'May
all go well with thee,' said the oven, as the girl walked on.
By-and-by
she became very thirsty, and seeing a cow with a milk-pail hanging on her horn,
turned towards her.
'Milk
me and drink as much as you will, little maiden,' cried the cow, 'but be sure
you spill none on the ground; and do me no harm, for I have never harmed
anyone.'
'Nor
I,' answered the girl; 'fear nothing.' So she sat down and milked till the pail
was nearly full. Then she drank it all up except a little drop at the bottom.
'Now
throw any that is left over my hoofs, and hang the pail on my horns again,'
said the cow. And the girl did as she was bid, and kissed the cow on her
forehead and went her way.
Many
hours had now passed since the girl had fallen down the well, and the sun was
setting.
'Where
shall I spend the night?' thought she. And suddenly she saw before her a gate
which she had not noticed before, and a very old woman leaning against it.
'Good
evening,' said the girl politely; and the old woman answered:
'Good
evening, my child. Would that everyone was as polite as you. Are you in search
of anything?'
'I
am in search of a place,' replied the girl; and the woman smiled and said:
'Then
stop a little while and comb my hair, and you shall tell me all the things you
can do.'
'Willingly,
mother,' answered the girl. And she began combing out the old woman's hair,
which was long and white.
Half
an hour passed in this way, and then the old woman said:
'As
you did not think yourself too good to comb me, I will show you where you may
take service. Be prudent and patient and all will go well.'
So
the girl thanked her, and set out for a farm at a little distance, where she
was engaged to milk the cows and sift the corn.
As
soon as it was light next morning the girl got up and went into the cow-house.
'I'm sure you must be hungry,' said she, patting each in turn. And then she
fetched hay from the barn, and while they were eating it, she swept out the
cow-house, and strewed clean straw upon the floor. The cows were so pleased
with the care she took of them that they stood quite still while she milked
them, and did not play any of the tricks on her that they had played on other
dairymaids who were rough and rude. And when she had done, and was going to get
up from her stool, she found sitting round her a whole circle of cats, black
and white, tabby and tortoise-shell, who all cried with one voice:
'We
are very thirsty, please give us some milk!'
'My
poor little pussies,' said she, 'of course you shall have some.' And she went
into the dairy, followed by all the cats, and gave each one a little red
saucerful. But before they drank they all rubbed themselves against her knees
and purred by way of thanks.
The
next thing the girl had to do was to go to the storehouse, and to sift the corn
through a sieve. While she was busy rubbing the corn she heard a whirr of
wings, and a flock of sparrows flew in at the window.
'We
are hungry; give us some corn! give us some corn!' cried they; and the girl
answered:
'You
poor little birds, of course you shall have some!' and scattered a fine handful
over the floor. When they had finished they flew on her shoulders and flapped
their wings by way of thanks.
Time
went by, and no cows in the whole country-side were so fat and well tended as
hers, and no dairy had so much milk to show. The farmer's wife was so well
satisfied that she gave her higher wages, and treated her like her own
daughter. At length, one day, the girl was bidden by her mistress to come into
the kitchen, and when there, the old woman said to her: 'I know you can tend
cows and keep a diary; now let me see what you can do besides. Take this sieve
to the well, and fill it with water, and bring it home to me without spilling
one drop by the way.'
The
girl's heart sank at this order; for how was it possible for her to do her
mistress's bidding? However, she was silent, and taking the sieve went down to
the well with it. Stopping over the side, she filled it to the brim, but as
soon as she lifted it the water all ran out of the holes. Again and again she
tried, but not a drop would remaining in the sieve, and she was just turning
away in despair when a flock of sparrows flew down from the sky.
'Ashes!
ashes!' they twittered; and the girl looked at them and said:
'Well,
I can't be in a worse plight than I am already, so I will take your advice.'
And she ran back to the kitchen and filled her sieve with ashes. Then once more
she dipped the sieve into the well, and, behold, this time not a drop of water
disappeared!
'Here
is the sieve, mistress,' cried the girl, going to the room where the old woman
was sitting.
'You
are cleverer than I expected,' answered she; 'or else someone helped you who is
skilled in magic.' But the girl kept silence, and the old woman asked her no
more questions.
Many
days passed during which the girl went about her work as usual, but at length
one day the old woman called her and said:
'I
have something more for you to do. There are here two yarns, the one white, the
other black. What you must do is to wash them in the river till the black one
becomes white and the white black.' And the girl took them to the river and
washed hard for several hours, but wash as she would they never changed one
whit.
'This
is worse than the sieve,' thought she, and was about to give up in despair when
there came a rush of wings through the air, and on every twig of the birch
trees which grew by the bank was perched a sparrow.
'The
black to the east, the white to the west!' they sang, all at once; and the girl
dried her tears and felt brave again. Picking up the black yarn, she stood
facing the east and dipped it in the river, and in an instant it grew white as
snow, then turning to the west, she held the white yarn in the water, and it
became as black as a crow's wing. She looked back at the sparrows and smiled
and nodded to them, and flapping their wings in reply they flew swiftly away.
At
the sight of the yarn the old woman was struck dumb; but when at length she
found her voice she asked the girl what magician had helped her to do what no
one had done before. But she got no answer, for the maiden was afraid of
bringing trouble on her little friends.
For
many weeks the mistress shut herself up in her room, and the girl went about
her work as usual. She hoped that there was an end to the difficult tasks which
had been set her; but in this she was mistaken, for one day the old woman
appeared suddenly in the kitchen, and said to her:
'There
is one more trial to which I must put you, and if you do not fail in that you
will be left in peace for evermore. Here are the yarns which you washed. Take
them and weave them into a web that is as smooth as a king's robe, and see that
it is spun by the time that the sun sets.'
'This
is the easiest thing I have been set to do,' thought the girl, who was a good
spinner. But when she began she found that the skein tangled and broke every
moment.
'Oh,
I can never do it!' she cried at last, and leaned her head against the loom and
wept; but at that instant the door opened, and there entered, one behind
another, a procession of cats.
'What
is the matter, fair maiden?' asked they. And the girl answered:
'My
mistress has given me this yarn to weave into a piece of cloth, which must be
finished by sunset, and I have not even begun yet, for the yarn breaks whenever
I touch it.'
'If
that is all, dry your eyes,' said the cats; 'we will manage it for you.' And
they jumped on the loom, and wove so fast and so skilfully that in a very short
time the cloth was ready and was as fine as any king ever wore. The girl was so
delighted at the sight of it that she gave each cat a kiss on his forehead as
they left the room behind one the other as they had come.
'Who
has taught you this wisdom?' asked the old woman, after she had passed her
hands twice or thrice over the cloth and could find no roughness anywhere. But
the girl only smiled and did not answer. She had learned early the value of
silence.
After
a few weeks the old woman sent for her maid and told her that as her year of
service was now up, she was free to return home, but that, for her part, the
girl had served her so well that she hoped she might stay with her. But at
these words the maid shook her head, and answered gently:
'I
have been happy here, Madam, and I thank you for your goodness to me; but I
have left behind me a stepsister and a stepmother, and I am fain to be with
them once more.' The old woman looked at her for a moment, and then she said:
'Well,
that must be as you like; but as you have worked faithfully for me I will give
you a reward. Go now into the loft above the store house and there you will
find many caskets. Choose the one which pleases you best, but be careful not to
open it till you have set it in the place where you wish it to remain.'
The
girl left the room to go to the loft, and as soon as she got outside, she found
all the cats waiting for her. Walking in procession, as was their custom, they
followed her into the loft, which was filled with caskets big and little, plain
and splendid. She lifted up one and looked at it, and then put it down to
examine another yet more beautiful. Which should she choose, the yellow or the
blue, the red or the green, the gold or the silver? She hesitated long, and
went first to one and then to another, when she heard the cats' voices calling:
'Take the black! take the black!'
The
words make her look round--she had seen no black casket, but as the cats
continued their cry she peered into several corners that had remained
unnoticed, and at length discovered a little black box, so small and so black,
that it might easily have been passed over.
'This
is the casket that pleases me best, mistress,' said the girl, carrying it into
the house. And the old woman smiled and nodded, and bade her go her way. So the
girl set forth, after bidding farewell to the cows and the cats and the
sparrows, who all wept as they said good-bye.
She
walked on and on and on, till she reached the flowery meadow, and there,
suddenly, something happened, she never knew what, but she was sitting on the
wall of the well in her stepmother's yard. Then she got up and entered the
house.
The
woman and her daughter stared as if they had been turned into stone; but at
length the stepmother gasped out:
'So
you are alive after all! Well, luck was ever against me! And where have you
been this year past?' Then the girl told how she had taken service in the
under-world, and, beside her wages, had brought home with her a little casket,
which she would like to set up in her room.
'Give
me the money, and take the ugly little box off to the outhouse,' cried the
woman, beside herself with rage, and the girl, quite frightened at her
violence, hastened away, with her precious box clasped to her bosom.
The
outhouse was in a very dirty state, as no one had been near it since the girl
had fallen down the well; but she scrubbed and swept till everything was clean
again, and then she placed the little casket on a small shelf in the corner.
'Now
I may open it,' she said to herself; and unlocking it with the key which hung
to its handle, she raised the lid, but started back as she did so, almost
blinded by the light that burst upon her. No one would ever have guessed that
that little black box could have held such a quantity of beautiful things!
Rings, crowns, girdles, necklaces--all made of wonderful stones; and they shone
with such brilliance that not only the stepmother and her daughter but all the
people round came running to see if the house was on fire. Of course the woman
felt quite ill with greed and envy, and she would have certainly taken all the
jewels for herself had she not feared the wrath of the neighbours, who loved
her stepdaughter as much as they hated her.
But
if she could not steal the casket and its contents for herself, at least she
could get another like it, and perhaps a still richer one. So she bade her own
daughter sit on the edge of the well, and threw her into the water, exactly as
she had done to the other girl; and, exactly as before, the flowery meadow lay
at the bottom.
Every
inch of the way she trod the path which her stepsister had trodden, and saw the
things which she had seen; but there the likeness ended. When the fence prayed
her to do it no harm, she laughed rudely, and tore up some of the stakes so
that she might get over the more easily; when the oven offered her bread, she
scattered the loaves onto the ground and stamped on them; and after she had
milked the cow, and drunk as much as she wanted, she threw the rest on the
grass, and kicked the pail to bits, and never heard them say, as they looked
after her: 'You shall not have done this to me for nothing!'
Towards
evening she reached the spot where the old woman was leaning against the
gate-post, but she passed her by without a word.
'Have
you no manners in your country?' asked the crone.
'I
can't stop and talk; I am in a hurry,' answered the girl. 'It is getting late,
and I have to find a place.'
'Stop
and comb my hair for a little,' said the old woman, 'and I will help you to get
a place.'
'Comb
your hair, indeed! I have something better to do than that!' And slamming the gate
in the crone's face she went her way. And she never heard the words that
followed her: 'You shall not have done this to me for nothing!'
By-and-by
the girl arrived at the farm, and she was engaged to look after the cows and
sift the corn as her stepsister had been. But it was only when someone was
watching her that she did her work; at other times the cow-house was dirty, and
the cows ill-fed and beaten, so that they kicked over the pail, and tried to
butt her; and everyone said they had never seen such thin cows or such poor
milk. As for the cats, she chased them away, and ill-treated them, so that they
had not even the spirit to chase the rats and mice, which nowadays ran about
everywhere. And when the sparrows came to beg for some corn, they fared no
better than the cows and the cats, for the girl threw her shoes at them, till
they flew in a fright to the woods, and took shelter amongst the trees.
Months
passed in this manner, when, one day, the mistress called the girl to her.
'All
that I have given you to do you have done ill,' said she, 'yet will I give you
another chance. For though you cannot tend cows, or divide the grain from the
chaff, there may be other things that you can do better. Therefore take this
sieve to the well, and fill it with water, and see that you bring it back
without spilling a drop.'
The
girl took the sieve and carried it to the well as her sister had done; but no
little birds came to help her, and after dipping it in the well two or three
times she brought it back empty.
'I
thought as much,' said the old woman angrily; 'she that is useless in one thing
is useless in another.'
Perhaps
the mistress may have thought that the girl had learnt a lesson, but, if she
did, she was quite mistaken, as the work was no better done than before.
By-and-by she sent for her again, and gave her maid the black and white yarn to
wash in the river; but there was no one to tell her the secret by which the
black would turn white, and the white black; so she brought them back as they
were. This time the old woman only looked at her grimly but the girl was too
well pleased with herself to care what anyone thought about her.
After
some weeks her third trial came, and the yarn was given her to spin, as it had
been given to her stepsister before her.
But
no procession of cats entered the room to weave a web of fine cloth, and at
sunset she only brought back to her mistress an armful of dirty, tangled wool.
'There
seems nothing in the world you can do,' said the old woman, and left her to
herself.
Soon
after this the year was up, and the girl went to her mistress to tell her that
she wished to go home.
'Little
desire have I to keep you,' answered the old woman, 'for no one thing have you
done as you ought. Still, I will give you some payment, therefore go up into
the loft, and choose for yourself one of the caskets that lies there. But see
that you do not open it till you place it where you wish it to stay.'
This
was what the girl had been hoping for, and so rejoiced was she, that, without
even stopping to thank the old woman, she ran as fast as she could to the loft.
There were the caskets, blue and red, green and yellow, silver and gold; and
there in the corner stood a little black casket just like the one her
stepsister had brought home.
'If
there are so many jewels in that little black thing, this big red one will hold
twice the number,' she said to herself; and snatching it up she set off on her
road home without even going to bid farewell to her mistress.
'See,
mother, see what I have brought!' cried she, as she entered the cottage holding
the casket in both hands.
'Ah!
you have got something very different from that little black box,' answered the
old woman with delight. But the girl was so busy finding a place for it to
stand that she took little notice of her mother.
'It
will look best here--no, here,' she said, setting it first on one piece of
furniture and then on another. 'No, after all it is to fine to live in a
kitchen, let us place it in the guest chamber.'
So
mother and daughter carried it proudly upstairs and put it on a shelf over the
fireplace; then, untying the key from the handle, they opened the box. As
before, a bright light leapt out directly the lid was raised, but it did not
spring from the lustre of jewels, but from hot flames, which darted along the
walls and burnt up the cottage and all that was in it and the mother and
daughter as well.
As
they had done when the stepdaughter came home, the neighbours all hurried to
see what was the matter; but they were too late. Only the hen-house was left
standing; and, in spite of her riches, there the stepdaughter lived happily to
the end of her days.
[From
Thorpe's Yule-Tide Stories.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f10]
The
Goldsmith's Fortune
Once
upon a time there was a goldsmith who lived in a certain village where the
people were as bad and greedy, and covetous, as they could possibly be;
however, in spite of his surroundings, he was fat and prosperous. He had only
one friend whom he liked, and that was a cowherd, who looked after cattle for
one of the farmers in the village. Every evening the goldsmith would walk
across to the cowherd's house and say: 'Come, let's go out for a walk!'
Now
the cowherd didn't like walking in the evening, because, he said, he had been
out grazing the cattle all day, and was glad to sit down when night came; but
the goldsmith always worried him so that the poor man had to go against his
will. This at last so annoyed him that he tried to think how he could pick a
quarrel with the goldsmith, so that he should not beg him to walk with him any
more. He asked another cowherd for advice, and he said the best thing he could
do was to go across and kill the goldsmith's wife, for then the goldsmith would
be sure to regard him as an enemy; so, being a foolish person, and there being
no laws in that country by which a man would be certainly punished for such a
crime, the cowherd one evening took a big stick and went across to the
goldsmith's house when only Mrs. Goldsmith was at home, and banged her on the
head so hard that she died then and there.
When
the goldsmith came back and found his wife dead he said nothing, but just took
her outside into the dark lane and propped her up against the wall of his
house, and then went into the courtyard and waited. Presently a rich stranger
came along the lane, and seeing someone there, as he supposed, he said:
'Good-evening,
friend! a fine night to-night!' But the goldsmith's wife said nothing. The man
then repeated his words louder; but still there was no reply. A third time he
shouted:
'Good-evening,
friend! are you deaf?' but the figure never replied. Then the stranger, being
angry at what he thought very rude behaviour, picked up a big stone and threw
it at Mrs. Goldsmith, crying:
'Let
that teach you manners!'
Instantly
poor Mrs. Goldsmith tumbled over; and the stranger, horrified at seeing what he
had done, was immediately seized by the goldsmith, who ran out screaming:
'Wretch!
you have killed my wife! Oh, miserable one; we will have justice done to thee!'
With
many protestations and reproaches they wrangled together, the stranger
entreating the goldsmith to say nothing and he would pay him handsomely to
atone for the sad accident. At last the goldsmith quieted down, and agreed to
accept one thousand gold pieces from the stranger, who immediately helped him
to bury his poor wife, and then rushed off to the guest house, packed up his
things and was off by daylight, lest the goldsmith should repent and accuse him
as the murderer of his wife. Now it very soon appeared that the goldsmith had a
lot of extra money, so that people began to ask questions, and finally demanded
of him the reason for his sudden wealth.
'Oh,'
said he, 'my wife died, and I sold her.'
'You
sold your dead wife?' cried the people.
'Yes,'
said the goldsmith.
'For
how much?'
'A
thousand gold pieces,' replied the goldsmith.
Instantly
the villagers went away and each caught hold of his own wife and throttled her,
and the next day they all went off to sell their dead wives. Many a weary mile
did they tramp, but got nothing but hard words or laughter, or directions to
the nearest cemetery, from people to whom they offered dead wives for sale. At
last they perceived that they had been cheated somehow by that goldsmith. So
off they rushed home, seized the unhappy man, and, without listening to his
cries and entreaties, hurried him down to the river bank and flung
him--plop!--into the deepest, weediest, and nastiest place they could find.
'That
will teach him to play tricks on us,' said they. 'For as he can't swim he'll
drown, and we sha'n't have any more trouble with him!'
Now
the goldsmith really could not swim, and as soon as he was thrown into the deep
river he sank below the surface; so his enemies went away believing that they
had seen the last of him. But, in reality, he was carried down, half drowned,
below the next bend in the river, where he fortunately came across a 'snag' floating
in the water (a snag is, you know, a part of a tree or bush which floats very
nearly under the surface of the water); and he held on to this snag, and by
great good luck eventually came ashore some two or three miles down the river.
At the place where he landed he came across a fine fat cow buffalo, and
immediately he jumped on her back and rode home. When the village people saw
him, they ran out in surprise, and said:
'Where
on earth do you come from, and where did you get that buffalo?'
'Ah!'
said the goldsmith, 'you little know what delightful adventures I have had!
Why, down in that place in the river where you threw me in I found meadows, and
trees, and fine pastures, and buffaloes, and all kinds of cattle. In fact, I
could hardly tear myself away; but I thought that I must really let you all
know about it.'
'Oh,
oh!' thought the greedy village people; 'if there are buffaloes to be had for
the taking we'll go after some too.' Encouraged by the goldsmith they nearly
all ran off the very next morning to the river; and, in order that they might
get down quickly to the beautiful place the goldsmith told them of, they tied
great stones on to their feet and their necks, and one after another they
jumped into the water as fast as the could, and were drowned. And whenever any
one of them waved his hands about and struggled the goldsmith would cry out:
'Look!
he's beckoning the rest of you to come; he's got a fine buffalo!' And others
who were doubtful would jump in, until not one was left. Then the cunning
goldsmith went back and took all the village for himself, and became very rich
indeed. But do you think he was happy? Not a bit. Lies never made a man happy
yet. Truly, he got the better of a set of wicked and greedy people, but only by
being wicked and greedy himself; and, as it turned out, when he got so rich he
got very fat; and at last was so fat that he couldn't move, and one day he got
the apoplexy and died, and no one in the world cared the least bit.
[Told
by a Pathan to Major Campbell.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f11]
The
Enchanted Wreath
Once
upon a time there lived near a forest a man and his wife and two girls; one
girl was the daughter of the man, and the other the daughter of his wife; and
the man's daughter was good and beautiful, but the woman's daughter was cross
and ugly. However, her mother did not know that, but thought her the most
bewitching maiden that ever was seen.
One
day the man called to his daughter and bade her come with him into the forest
to cut wood. They worked hard all day, but in spite of the chopping they were
very cold, for it rained heavily, and when they returned home, they were wet
through. Then, to his vexation, the man found that he had left his axe behind
him, and he knew that if it lay all night in the mud it would become rusty and
useless. So he said to his wife:
'I
have dropped my axe in the forest, bid your daughter go and fetch it, for mine
has worked hard all day and is both wet and weary.'
But
the wife answered:
'If
your daughter is wet already, it is all the more reason that she should go and
get the axe. Besides, she is a great strong girl, and a little rain will not
hurt her, while my daughter would be sure to catch a bad cold.'
By
long experience the man knew there was no good saying any more, and with a sigh
he told the poor girl she must return to the forest for the axe.
The
walk took some time, for it was very dark, and her shoes often stuck in the
mud, but she was brave as well as beautiful and never thought of turning back
merely because the path was both difficult and unpleasant. At last, with her
dress torn by brambles that she could not see, and her fact scratched by the
twigs on the trees, she reached the spot where she and her father had been
cutting in the morning, and found the axe in the place he had left it. To her
surprise, three little doves were sitting on the handle, all of them looking
very sad.
'You
poor little things,' said the girl, stroking them. 'Why do you sit there and
get wet? Go and fly home to your nest, it will be much warmer than this; but
first eat this bread, which I saved from my dinner, and perhaps you will feel
happier. It is my father's axe you are sitting on, and I must take it back as fast
as I can, or I shall get a terrible scolding from my stepmother.' She then
crumbled the bread on the ground, and was pleased to see the doves flutter
quite cheerfully towards it.
'Good-bye,'
she said, picking up the axe, and went her way homewards.
By
the time they had finished all the crumbs the doves felt must better, and were
able to fly back to their nest in the top of a tree.
'That
is a good girl,' said one; 'I really was too weak to stretch out a wing before
she came. I should like to do something to show how grateful I am.'
'Well,
let us give her a wreath of flowers that will never fade as long as she wears
it,' cried another.
'And
let the tiniest singing birds in the world sit amongst the flowers,' rejoined
the third.
'Yes,
that will do beautifully,' said the first. And when the girl stepped into her
cottage a wreath of rosebuds was on her head, and a crowd of little birds were
singing unseen.
The
father, who was sitting by the fire, thought that, in spite of her muddy
clothes, he had never seen his daughter looking so lovely; but the stepmother
and the other girl grew wild with envy.
'How
absurd to walk about on such a pouring night, dressed up like that,' she
remarked crossly, and roughly pulled off the wreath as she spoke, to place it
on her own daughter. As she did so the roses became withered and brown, and the
birds flew out of the window.
'See
what a trumpery thing it is!' cried the stepmother; 'and now take your supper
and go to bed, for it is near upon midnight.'
But
though she pretended to despise the wreath, she longed none the less for her
daughter to have one like it.
Now
it happened that the next evening the father, who had been alone in the forest,
came back a second time without his axe. The stepmother's heart was glad when
she saw this, and she said quite mildly:
'Why,
you have forgotten your axe again, you careless man! But now your daughter
shall stay at home, and mine shall go and bring it back'; and throwing a cloak
over the girl's shoulders, she bade her hasten to the forest.
With
a very ill grace the damsel set forth, grumbling to herself as she went; for
though she wished for the wreath, she did not at all want the trouble of
getting it.
By
the time she reached the spot where her stepfather had been cutting the wood
the girl was in a very bad temper indeed, and when she caught sight of the axe,
there were the three little doves, with drooping heads and soiled, bedraggled
feathers, sitting on the handle.
'You
dirty creatures,' cried she, 'get away at once, or I will throw stones at you!
And the doves spread their wings in a fright and flew up to the very top of a
tree, their bodies shaking with anger.
'What
shall we do to revenge ourselves on her?' asked the smallest of the doves, 'we were
never treated like that before.'
'Never,'
said the biggest dove. 'We must find some way of paying her back in her own
coin!'
'I
know,' answered the middle dove; 'she shall never be able to say anything but
"dirty creatures" to the end of her life.'
'Oh,
how clever of you! That will do beautifully,' exclaimed the other two. And they
flapped their wings and clucked so loud with delight, and made such a noise,
that they woke up all the birds in the trees close by.
'What
in the world is the matter?' asked the birds sleepily.
'That
is our secret,' said the doves.
Meanwhile
the girl had reached home crosser than ever; but as soon as her mother heard
her lift the latch of the door she ran out to hear her adventures. 'Well, did
you get the wreath?' cried she.
'Dirty
creatures!' answered her daughter.
'Don't
speak to me like that! What do you mean?' asked the mother again.
'Dirty
creatures!' repeated the daughter, and nothing else could she say.
Then
the woman saw that something evil had befallen her, and turned in her rage to
her stepdaughter.
'You
are at the bottom of this, I know,' she cried; and as the father was out of the
way she took a stick and beat the girl till she screamed with pain and went to
bed sobbing.
If
the poor girl's life had been miserable before, it was ten times worse now, for
the moment her father's back was turned the others teased and tormented her
from morning till night; and their fury was increased by the sight of her
wreath, which the doves had placed again on her head.
Things
went on like this for some weeks, when, one day, as the king's son was riding
through the forest, he heard some strange birds singing more sweetly than birds
had ever sung before. He tied his horse to a tree, and followed where the sound
led him, and, to his surprise, he saw before him a beautiful girl chopping
wood, with a wreath of pink rose-buds, out of which the singing came. Standing
in the shelter of a tree, he watched her a long while, and then, hat in hand,
he went up and spoke to her.
'Fair
maiden, who are you, and who gave you that wreath of singing roses?' asked he,
for the birds were so tiny that till you looked closely you never saw them.
'I
live in a hut on the edge of the forest,' she answered, blushing, for she had
never spoken to a prince before. 'As to the wreath, I know not how it came
there, unless it may be the gift of some doves whom I fed when they were
starving! The prince was delighted with this answer, which showed the goodness
of the girl's heart, and besides he had fallen in love with her beauty, and
would not be content till she promised to return with him to the palace, and
become his bride. The old king was naturally disappointed at his son's choice
of a wife, as he wished him to marry a neighbouring princess; but as from his
birth the prince had always done exactly as he like, nothing was said and a
splendid wedding feast was got ready.
The
day after her marriage the bride sent a messenger, bearing handsome presents to
her father, and telling him of the good fortune which had befallen her. As may
be imagined, the stepmother and her daughter were so filled with envy that they
grew quite ill, and had to take to their beds, and nobody would have been sorry
it they had never got up again; but that did not happen. At length, however,
they began to feel better, for the mother invented a plan by which she could be
revenged on the girl who had never done her any harm.
Her
plan was this. In the town where she had lived before she was married there was
an old witch, who had more skill in magic that any other witch she knew. To
this witch she would go and beg her to make her a mask with the face of her
stepdaughter, and when she had the mask the rest would be easy. She told her
daughter what she meant to do, and although the daughter could only say 'dirty
creatures,' in answer, she nodded and smiled and looked well pleased.
Everything
fell out exactly as the woman had hoped. By the aid of her magic mirror the
witch beheld the new princess walking in her gardens in a dress of green silk,
and in a few minutes had produced a mask so like her, that very few people
could have told the difference. However, she counselled the woman that when her
daughter first wore it-- for that, of course, was what she intended her to
do--she had better pretend that she had a toothache, and cover her head with a
lace veil. The woman thanked her and paid her well, and returned to her hut,
carrying the mask under her cloak.
In
a few days she heard that a great hunt was planned, and the prince would leave
the palace very early in the morning, so that his wife would be alone all day.
This was a chance not to be missed, and taking her daughter with her she went
up to the palace, where she had never been before. The princess was too happy
in her new home to remember all that she had suffered in the old one, and she
welcomed them both gladly, and gave them quantities of beautiful things to take
back with them. At last she took them down to the shore to see a pleasure boat
which her husband had had made for her; and here, the woman seizing her
opportunity, stole softly behind the girl and pushed her off the rock on which
she was standing, into the deep water, where she instantly sank to the bottom.
Then she fastened the mask on her daughter, flung over her shoulders a velvet
cloak, which the princess had let fall, and finally arranged a lace veil over
her head.
'Rest
your cheek on your hand, as if you were in pain, when the prince returns,' said
the mother; 'and be careful not to speak, whatever you do. I will go back to
the witch and see if she cannot take off the spell laid on you by those
horrible birds. Ah! why did I not think of it before!'
No
sooner had the prince entered the palace than he hastened to the princess's
apartments, where he found her lying on the sofa apparently in great pain.
'My
dearest wife, what is the matter with you?' he cried, kneeling down beside her,
and trying to take her hand; but she snatched it away, and pointing to her
cheek murmured something he could not catch.
'What
is it? tell me! Is the pain bad? When did it begin? Shall I send for your
ladies to bath the place?' asked the prince, pouring out these and a dozen
other questions, to which the girl only shook her head.
'But
I can't leave you like this,' he continued, starting up, 'I must summon all the
court physicians to apply soothing balsams to the sore place! And as he spoke
he sprang to his feet to go in search of them. This so frightened the pretended
wife, who knew that if the physicians once came near her the trick would at
once be discovered, that she forgot her mother's counsel not to speak, and
forgot even the spell that had been laid upon her, and catching hold of the
prince's tunic, she cried in tones of entreaty: 'Dirty creatures!'
The
young man stopped, not able to believe his ears, but supposed that pain had
made the princess cross, as it sometimes does. However, he guessed somehow that
she wised to be left alone, so he only said:
'Well,
I dare say a little sleep will do you good, if you can manage to get it, and
that you will wake up better to-morrow.'
Now,
that night happened to be very hot and airless, and the prince, after vainly
trying to rest, at length got up and went to the window. Suddenly he beheld in
the moonlight a form with a wreath of roses on her head rise out of the sea
below him and step on to the sands, holding out her arms as she did so towards
the palace.
'That
maiden is strangely like my wife,' thought he; 'I must see her closer! And he
hastened down to the water. But when he got there, the princess, for she indeed
it was, had disappeared completely, and he began to wonder if his eyes had
deceived him.
The
next morning he went to the false bride's room, but her ladies told him she
would neither speak nor get up, though she ate everything they set before her.
The prince was sorely perplexed as to what could be the matter with her, for
naturally he could not guess that she was expecting her mother to return every
moment, and to remove the spell the doves had laid upon her, and meanwhile was
afraid to speak lest she should betray herself. At length he made up his mind
to summon all the court physicians; he did not tell her what he was going to
do, lest it should make her worse, but he went himself and begged the four
learned leeches attached to the king's person to follow him to the princess's
apartments. Unfortunately, as they entered, the princess was so enraged at the
sight of them that she forgot all about the doves, and shrieked out: 'Dirty creatures!
dirty creatures!' which so offended the physicians that they left the room at
once, and nothing that the prince could say would prevail on them to remain. He
then tried to persuade his wife to send them a message that she was sorry for
her rudeness, but not a word would she say.
Late
that evening, when he had performed all the tiresome duties which fall to the
lot of every prince, the young man was leaning out of his window, refreshing
himself with the cool breezes that blew off the sea. His thoughts went back to
the scene of the morning, and he wondered if, after all, he had not made a
great mistake in marrying a low-born wife, however beautiful she might be. How
could he have imagined that the quiet, gentle girl who had been so charming a
companion to him during the first days of their marriage, could have become in
a day the rude, sulky woman, who could not control her temper even to benefit
herself. One thing was clear, if she did not change her conduct very shortly he
would have to send her away from court.
He
was thinking these thoughts, when his eyes fell on the sea beneath him, and
there, as before, was the figure that so closely resembled his wife, standing
with her feet in the water, holding out her arms to him.
'Wait
for me! Wait for me! Wait for me!' he cried; not even knowing he was speaking.
But when he reached the shore there was nothing to be seen but the shadows cast
by the moonlight.
A
state ceremonial in a city some distance off caused the prince to ride away at
daybreak, and he left without seeing his wife again.
'Perhaps
she may have come to her senses by to-morrow,' said he to himself; 'and,
anyhow, if I am going to send her back to her father, it might be better if we
did not meet in the meantime! Then he put the matter from his mind, and kept
his thoughts on the duty that lay before him.
It
was nearly midnight before he returned to the palace, but, instead of entering,
he went down to the shore and hid behind a rock. He had scarcely done so when
the girl came out of the sea, and stretched out her arms towards his window. In
an instant the prince had seized her hand, and though she made a frightened
struggle to reach the water--for she in her turn had had a spell laid upon
her--he held her fast.
'You
are my own wife, and I shall never let you go,' he said. But the words were
hardly out of his mouth when he found that it was a hare that he was holding by
the paw. Then the hare changed into a fish, and the fish into a bird, and the
bird into a slimy wriggling snake. This time the prince's hand nearly opened of
itself, but with a strong effort he kept his fingers shut, and drawing his
sword cut off its head, when the spell was broken, and the girl stood before
him as he had seen her first, the wreath upon her head and the birds singing
for joy.
The
very next morning the stepmother arrived at the palace with an ointment that
the old witch had given her to place upon her daughter's tongue, which would
break the dove's spell, if the rightful bride had really been drowned in the
sea; if not, then it would be useless. The mother assured her that she had seen
her stepdaughter sink, and that there was no fear that she would ever come up
again; but, to make all quite safe, the old woman might bewitch the girl; and
so she did. After that the wicked stepmother travelled all through the night to
get to the palace as soon as possible, and made her way straight into her
daughter's room.
'I
have got it! I have got it!' she cried triumphantly, and laid the ointment on
her daughter's tongue.
'Now
what do you say?' she asked proudly.
'Dirty
creatures! dirty creatures!' answered the daughter; and the mother wrung her
hands and wept, as she knew that all her plans had failed.
At
this moment the prince entered with his real wife. 'You both deserved death,'
he said, 'and if it were left to me, you should have it. But the princess has
begged me to spare your lives, so you will be put into a ship and carried off
to a desert island, where you will stay till you die.'
Then
the ship was made ready and the wicked woman and her daughter were placed in
it, and it sailed away, and no more was heard of them. But the prince and his
wife lived together long and happily, and ruled their people well.
[Adapted
from Thorpe's Yule-Tide Stories.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f12]
The
Foolish Weaver
Once
a weaver, who was in want of work, took service with a certain farmer as a
shepherd.
The
farmer, knowing that the man was very slow-witted, gave him most careful
instructions as to everything that he was to do.
Finally
he said: 'If a wolf or any wild animal attempts to hurt the flock you should
pick up a big stone like this' (suiting the action to the word) 'and throw a
few such at him, and he will be afraid and go away.' The weaver said that he
understood, and started with the flocks to the hillsides where they grazed all
day.
By
chance in the afternoon a leopard appeared, and the weaver instantly ran home
as fast as he could to get the stones which the farmer had shown him, to throw
at the creature. When he came back all the flock were scattered or killed, and
when the farmer heard the tale he beat him soundly. 'Were there no stones on
the hillside that you should run back to get them, you senseless one?' he
cried; 'you are not fit to herd sheep. To-day you shall stay at home and mind
my old mother who is sick, perhaps you will be able to drive flies off her
face, if you can't drive beasts away from sheep!'
So,
the next day, the weaver was left at home to take care of the farmer's old sick
mother. Now as she lay outside on a bed, it turned out that the flies became
very troublesome, and the weaver looked round for something to drive them away
with; and as he had been told to pick up the nearest stone to drive the beasts
away from the flock, he thought he would this time show how cleverly he could
obey orders. Accordingly he seized the nearest stone, which was a big, heavy
one, and dashed it at the flies; but, unhappily, he slew the poor old woman
also; and then, being afraid of the wrath of the farmer, he fled and was not
seen again in that neighbourhood.
All
that day and all the next night he walked, and at length he came to a village
where a great many weavers lived together.
'You
are welcome,' said they. 'Eat and sleep, for to-morrow six of us start in
search of fresh wool to weave, and we pray you to give us your company.'
'Willingly,'
answered the weaver. So the next morning the seven weavers set out to go to the
village where they could buy what they wanted. On the way they had to cross a
ravine which lately had been full of water, but now was quite dry. The weavers,
however, were accustomed to swim over this ravine; therefore, regardless of the
fact that this time it was dry, they stripped, and, tying their clothes on
their heads, they proceeded to swim across the dry sand and rocks that formed
the bed of the ravine. Thus they got to the other side without further damage
than bruised knees and elbows, and as soon as they were over, one of them began
to count the party to make sure that all were safe there. He counted all except
himself, and then cried out that somebody was missing! This set each of them
counting; but each made the same mistake of counting all except himself, so
that they became certain that one of their party was missing! They ran up and
down the bank of the ravine wringing their hands in great distress and looking
for signs of their lost comrade. There a farmer found them and asked what was
the matter. 'Alas!' said one, 'seven of us started from the other bank and one
must have been drowned on the crossing, as we can only find six remaining!' The
farmer eyed them a minute, and then, picking up his stick, he dealt each a
sounding blow, counting, as he did so, 'One! two! three!' and so on up to the
seven. When the weavers found that there were seven of them they were overcome
with gratitude to one whom they took for a magician as he could thus make seven
out of an obvious six.
[From
the Pushto.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f13]
The
Clever Cat
Once
upon a time there lived an old man who dwelt with his son in a small hut on the
edge of the plain. He was very old, and had worked very hard, and when at last
he was struck down by illness he felt that he should never rise from his bed
again.
So,
one day, he bade his wife summon their son, when he came back from his journey
to the nearest town, where he had been to buy bread.
'Come
hither, my son,' said he; 'I know myself well to be dying, and I have nothing
to leave you but my falcon, my cat and my greyhound; but if you make good use
of them you will never lack food. Be good to your mother, as you have been to
me. And now farewell!'
Then
he turned his face to the wall and died.
There
was great mourning in the hut for many days, but at length the son rose up, and
calling to his greyhound, his cat and his falcon, he left the house saying that
he would bring back something for dinner. Wandering over the plain, he noticed
a troop of gazelles, and pointed to his greyhound to give chase. The dog soon
brought down a fine fat beast, and slinging it over his shoulders, the young
man turned homewards. On the way, however, he passed a pond, and as he
approached a cloud of birds flew into the air. Shaking his wrist, the falcon
seated on it darted into the air, and swooped down upon the quarry he had
marked, which fell dead to the ground. The young man picked it up, and put it
in his pouch and then went towards home again.
Near
the hut was a small barn in which he kept the produce of the little patch of
corn, which grew close to the garden. Here a rat ran out almost under his feet,
followed by another and another; but quick as thought the cat was upon them and
not one escaped her.
When
all the rats were killed, the young man left the barn. He took the path leading
to the door of the hut, but stopped on feeling a hand laid on his shoulder.
'Young
man,' said the ogre (for such was the stranger), 'you have been a good son, and
you deserve the piece of luck which has befallen you this day. Come with me to
that shining lake yonder, and fear nothing.'
Wondering
a little at what might be going to happen to him, the youth did as the ogre
bade him, and when they reached the shore of the lake, the ogre turned and said
to him:
'Step
into the water and shut your eyes! You will find yourself sinking slowly to the
bottom; but take courage, all will go well. Only bring up as much silver as you
can carry, and we will divide it between us.'
So
the young man stepped bravely into the lake, and felt himself sinking, sinking,
till he reached firm ground at last. In front of him lay four heaps of silver,
and in the midst of them a curious white shining stone, marked over with strange
characters, such as he had never seen before. He picked it up in order to
examine it more closely, and as he held it the stone spoke.
'As
long as you hold me, all your wishes will come true,' it said. 'But hide me in
your turban, and then call to the ogre that you are ready to come up.'
In
a few minutes the young man stood again by the shores of the lake.
'Well,
where is the silver?' asked the ogre, who was awaiting him.
'Ah,
my father, how can I tell you! So bewildered was I, and so dazzled with the
splendours of everything I saw, that I stood like a statue, unable to move.
Then hearing steps approaching I got frightened, and called to you, as you
know.'
'You
are no better than the rest,' cried the ogre, and turned away in a rage.
When
he was out of sight the young man took the stone from his turban and looked at
it. 'I want the finest camel that can be found, and the most splendid
garments,' said he.
'Shut
your eyes then,' replied the stone. And he shut them; and when he opened them
again the camel that he had wished for was standing before him, while the
festal robes of a desert prince hung from his shoulders. Mounting the camel, he
whistled the falcon to his wrist, and, followed by his greyhound and his cat,
he started homewards.
His
mother was sewing at her door when this magnificent stranger rode up, and,
filled with surprise, she bowed low before him.
'Don't
you know me, mother?' he said with a laugh. And on hearing his voice the good
woman nearly fell to the ground with astonishment.
'How
have you got that camel and those clothes?' asked she. 'Can a son of mine have
committed murder in order to possess them?'
'Do
not be afraid; they are quite honestly come by,' answered the youth. 'I will
explain all by-and-by; but now you must go to the palace and tell the king I
wish to marry his daughter.'
At
these words the mother thought her son had certainly gone mad, and stared
blankly at him. The young man guessed what was in her heart, and replied with a
smile:
'Fear
nothing. Promise all that he asks; it will be fulfilled somehow.'
So
she went to the palace, where she found the king sitting in the Hall of Justice
listening to the petitions of his people. The woman waited until all had been
heard and the hall was empty, and then went up and knelt before the throne.
'My
son has sent me to ask for the hand of the princess,' said she.
The
king looked at her and thought that she was mad; but, instead of ordering his
guards to turn her out, he answered gravely:
'Before
he can marry the princess he must build me a palace of ice, which can be warmed
with fires, and wherein the rarest singing-birds can live!'
'It
shall be done, your Majesty,' said she, and got up and left the hall.
Her
son was anxiously awaiting her outside the palace gates, dressed in the clothes
that he wore every day.
'Well,
what have I got to do?' he asked impatiently, drawing his mother aside so that
no one could overhear them.
'Oh,
something quite impossible; and I hope you will put the princess out of your
head,' she replied.
'Well,
but what is it?' persisted he.
'Nothing
but to build a palace of ice wherein fires can burn that shall keep it so warm
that the most delicate singing-birds can live in it!'
'I
thought it would be something much harder than that,' exclaimed the young man.
'I will see about it at once.' And leaving his mother, he went into the country
and took the stone from his turban.
'I
want a palace of ice that can be warmed with fires and filled with the rarest
singing-birds!'
'Shut
your eyes, then,' said the stone; and he shut them, and when he opened them
again there was the palace, more beautiful than anything he could have
imagined, the fires throwing a soft pink glow over the ice.
'It
is fit even for the princess,' thought he to himself.
As
soon as the king awoke next morning he ran to the window, and there across the
plain he beheld the palace.
'That
young man must be a great wizard; he may be useful to me.' And when the mother
came again to tell him that his orders had been fulfilled he received her with
great honour, and bade her tell her son that the wedding was fixed for the
following day.
The
princess was delighted with her new home, and with her husband also; and
several days slipped happily by, spent in turning over all the beautiful things
that the palace contained. But at length the young man grew tired of always
staying inside walls, and he told his wife that the next day he must leave her
for a few hours, and go out hunting. 'You will not mind?' he asked. And she
answered as became a good wife:
'Yes,
of course I shall mind; but I will spend the day in planning out some new
dresses; and then it will be so delightful when you come back, you know!'
So
the husband went off to hunt, with the falcon on his wrist, and the greyhound
and the cat behind him--for the palace was so warm that even the cat did not
mind living in it.
No
sooner had he gone, than the ogre who had been watching his chance for many
days, knocked at the door of the palace.
'I
have just returned from a far country,' he said, 'and I have some of the
largest and most brilliant stones in the world with me. The princess is known
to love beautiful things, perhaps she might like to buy some?'
Now
the princess had been wondering for many days what trimming she should put on
her dresses, so that they should outshine the dresses of the other ladies at
the court balls. Nothing that she thought of seemed good enough, so, when the
message was brought that the ogre and his wares were below, she at once ordered
that he should be brought to her chamber.
Oh!
what beautiful stones he laid before her; what lovely rubies, and what rare
pearls! No other lady would have jewels like those--of that the princess was
quite sure; but she cast down her eyes so that the ogre might not see how much
she longed for them.
'I
fear they are too costly for me,' she said carelessly; 'and besides, I have
hardly need of any more jewels just now.'
'I
have no particular wish to sell them myself,' answered the ogre, with equal
indifference. 'But I have a necklace of shining stones which was left me by
father, and one, the largest engraven with weird characters, is missing. I have
heard that it is in your husband's possession, and if you can get me that stone
you shall have any of these jewels that you choose. But you will have to
pretend that you want it for yourself; and, above all, do not mention me, for
he sets great store by it, and would never part with it to a stranger!
To-morrow I will return with some jewels yet finer than those I have with me
to-day. So, madam, farewell!'
Left
alone, the princess began to think of many things, but chiefly as to whether
she would persuade her husband to give her the stone or not. At one moment she
felt he had already bestowed so much upon her that it was a shame to ask for
the only object he had kept back. No, it would be mean; she could not do it!
But then, those diamonds, and those string of pearls! After all, they had only
been married a week, and the pleasure of giving it to her ought to be far
greater than the pleasure of keeping it for himself. And she was sure it would
be!
Well,
that evening, when the young man had supped off his favourite dishes which the
princess took care to have specially prepared for him, she sat down close
beside him, and began stroking his head. For some time she did not speak, but
listened attentively to all the adventures that had befallen him that day.
'But
I was thinking of you all the time,' said he at the end, 'and wishing that I
could bring you back something you would like. But, alas! what is there that
you do not possess already?' 'How good of you not to forget me when you are in
the midst of such dangers and hardships,' answered she. 'Yes, it is true I have
many beautiful things; but if you want to give me a present--and to-morrow is
my birthday--there IS one thing that I wish for very much.'
'And
what is that? Of course you shall have it directly!' he asked eagerly.
'It
is that bright stone which fell out of the folds of your turban a few days
ago,' she answered, playing with his finger; 'the little stone with all those
funny marks upon it. I never saw any stone like it before.'
The
young man did not answer at first; then he said, slowly:
'I
have promised, and therefore I must perform. But will you swear never to part
from it, and to keep it safely about you always? More I cannot tell you, but I
beg you earnestly to take heed to this.'
The
princess was a little startled by his manner, and began to be sorry that she
had every listened to the ogre. But she did not like to draw back, and
pretended to be immensely delighted at her new toy, and kissed and thanked her
husband for it.
'After
all I needn't give it to the ogre,' thought she as she dropped off to sleep.
Unluckily
the next morning the young man went hunting again, and the ogre, who was
watching, knew this, and did not come till much later than before. At the
moment that he knocked at the door of the palace the princess had tired of all
her employments, and her attendants were at their wits' end how to amuse her,
when a tall negro dressed in scarlet came to announce that the ogre was below,
and desired to know if the princess would speak to him.
'Bring
him hither at once!' cried she, springing up from her cushions, and forgetting
all her resolves of the previous night. In another moment she was bending with
rapture over the glittering gems.
'Have
you got it?' asked the ogre in a whisper, for the princess's ladies were
standing as near as they dared to catch a glimpse of the beautiful jewels.
'Yes,
here,' she answered, slipping the stone from her sash and placing it among the
rest. Then she raised her voice, and began to talk quickly of the prices of the
chains and necklaces, and after some bargaining, to deceive the attendants, she
declared that she liked one string of pearls better than all the rest, and that
the ogre might take away the other things, which were not half as valuable as
he supposed.
'As
you please, madam,' said he, bowing himself out of the palace.
Soon
after he had gone a curious thing happened. The princess carelessly touched the
wall of her room, which was wont to reflect the warm red light of the fire on
the hearth, and found her hand quite wet. She turned round, and--was it her
fancy? or did the fire burn more dimly than before? Hurriedly she passed into
the picture gallery, where pools of water showed here and there on the floor,
and a cold chill ran through her whole body. At that instant her frightened ladies
came running down the stairs, crying:
'Madam!
madam! what has happened? The palace is disappearing under our eyes!'
'My
husband will be home very soon,' answered the princess--who, though nearly as
much frightened as her ladies, felt that she must set them a good example.
'Wait till then, and he will tell us what to do.'
So
they waited, seated on the highest chairs they could find, wrapped in their
warmest garments, and with piles of cushions under their feet, while the poor
birds flew with numbed wings hither and thither, till they were so lucky as to
discover an open window in some forgotten corner. Through this they vanished,
and were seen no more.
At
last, when the princess and her ladies had been forced to leave the upper
rooms, where the walls and floors had melted away, and to take refuge in the
hall, the young man came home. He had ridden back along a winding road from
which he did not see the palace till he was close upon it, and stood horrified
at the spectacle before him. He knew in an instant that his wife must have
betrayed his trust, but he would not reproach her, as she must be suffering
enough already. Hurrying on he sprang over all that was left of the palace
walls, and the princess gave a cry of relief at the sight of him.
'Come
quickly,' he said, 'or you will be frozen to death!' And a dreary little
procession set out for the king's palace, the greyhound and the cat bringing up
the rear.
At
the gates he left them, though his wife besought him to allow her to enter.
'You
have betrayed me and ruined me,' he said sternly; 'I go to seek my fortune
alone.' And without another word he turned and left her.
With
his falcon on his wrist, and his greyhound and cat behind him, the young man
walked a long way, inquiring of everyone he met whether they had seen his enemy
the ogre. But nobody had. Then he bade his falcon fly up into the sky--up, up,
and up--and try if his sharp eyes could discover the old thief. The bird had to
go so high that he did not return for some hours; but he told his master that
the ogre was lying asleep in a splendid palace in a far country on the shores
of the sea. This was delightful news to the young man, who instantly bought
some meat for the falcon, bidding him make a good meal.
'To-morrow,'
said he, 'you will fly to the palace where the ogre lies, and while he is
asleep you will search all about him for a stone on which is engraved strange
signs; this you will bring to me. In three days I shall expect you back here.'
'Well,
I must take the cat with me,' answered the bird.
The
sun had not yet risen before the falcon soared high into the air, the cat
seated on his back, with his paws tightly clasping the bird's neck.
'You
had better shut your eyes or you may get giddy,' said the bird; and the cat,
you had never before been off the ground except to climb a tree, did as she was
bid.
All
that day and all that night they flew, and in the morning they saw the ogre's
palace lying beneath them.
'Dear
me,' said the cat, opening her eyes for the first time, 'that looks to me very
like a rat city down there, let us go down to it; they may be able to help us.'
So they alighted in some bushes in the heart of the rat city. The falcon
remained where he was, but the cat lay down outside the principal gate, causing
terrible excitement among the rats.
At
length, seeing she did not move, one bolder than the rest put its head out of
an upper window of the castle, and said, in a trembling voice:
'Why
have you come here? What do you want? If it is anything in our power, tell us,
and we will do it.'
'If
you would have let me speak to you before, I would have told you that I come as
a friend,' replied the cat; 'and I shall be greatly obliged if you would send
four of the strongest and cunningest among you, to do me a service.'
'Oh,
we shall be delighted,' answered the rat, much relieved. 'But if you will
inform me what it is you wish them to do I shall be better able to judge who is
most fitted for the post.'
'I
thank you,' said the cat. 'Well, what they have to do is this: To-night they
must burrow under the walls of the castle and go up to the room were an ogre
lies asleep. Somewhere about him he has hidden a stone, on which are engraved
strange signs. When they have found it they must take it from him without his
waking, and bring it to me.'
'Your
orders shall be obeyed,' replied the rat. And he went out to give his
instructions.
About
midnight the cat, who was still sleeping before the gate, was awakened by some
water flung at her by the head rat, who could not make up his mind to open the
doors.
'Here
is the stone you wanted,' said he, when the cat started up with a loud mew; 'if
you will hold up your paws I will drop it down.' And so he did. 'And now
farewell,' continued the rat; 'you have a long way to go, and will do well to
start before daybreak.'
'Your
counsel is good,' replied the cat, smiling to itself; and putting the stone in
her mouth she went off to seek the falcon.
Now
all this time neither the cat nor the falcon had had any food, and the falcon
soon got tired carrying such a heavy burden. When night arrived he declared he
could go no further, but would spend it on the banks of a river.
'And
it is my turn to take care of the stone,' said he, 'or it will seem as if you
had done everything and I nothing.'
'No,
I got it, and I will keep it,' answered the cat, who was tired and cross; and
they began a fine quarrel. But, unluckily, in the midst of it, the cat raised
her voice, and the stone fell into the ear of a big fish which happened to be
swimming by, and though both the cat and the falcon sprang into the water after
it, they were too late.
Half
drowned, and more than half choked, the two faithful servants scrambled back to
land again. The falcon flew to a tree and spread his wings in the sun to dry,
but the cat, after giving herself a good shake, began to scratch up the sandy
banks and to throw the bits into the stream.
'What
are you doing that for?' asked a little fish. 'Do you know that you are making
the water quite muddy?'
'That
doesn't matter at all to me,' answered the cat. 'I am going to fill up all the
river, so that the fishes may die.'
'That
is very unkind, as we have never done you any harm,' replied the fish. 'Why are
you so angry with us?'
'Because
one of you has got a stone of mine-- a stone with strange signs upon it--which
dropped into the water. If you will promise to get it back for me, why, perhaps
I will leave your river alone.'
'I
will certainly try,' answered the fish in a great hurry; 'but you must have a
little patience, as it may not be an easy task.' And in an instant his scales
might be seen flashing quickly along.
The
fish swam as fast as he could to the sea, which was not far distant, and
calling together all his relations who lived in the neighbourhood, he told them
of the terrible danger which threatened the dwellers in the river.
'None
of us has got it,' said the fishes, shaking their heads; 'but in the bay yonder
there is a tunny who, although he is so old, always goes everywhere. He will be
able to tell you about it, if anyone can.' So the little fish swam off to the
tunny, and again related his story.
'Why
I was up that river only a few hours ago!' cried the tunny; 'and as I was
coming back something fell into my ear, and there it is still, for I went to
sleep, when I got home and forgot all about it. Perhaps it may be what you
want.' And stretching up his tail he whisked out the stone.
'Yes,
I think that must be it,' said the fish with joy. And taking the stone in his
mouth he carried it to the place where the cat was waiting for him.
'I
am much obliged to you,' said the cat, as the fish laid the stone on the sand,
'and to reward you, I will let your river alone.' And she mounted the falcon's
back, and they flew to their master.
Ah,
how glad he was to see them again with the magic stone in their possession. In
a moment he had wished for a palace, but this time it was of green marble; and
then he wished for the princess and her ladies to occupy it. And there they
lived for many years, and when the old king died the princess's husband reigned
in his stead.
[Adapted
from Contes Berberes.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f14]
The
Story of Manus
Far
away over the sea of the West there reigned a king who had two sons; and the
name of the one was Oireal, and the name of the other was Iarlaid. When the
boys were still children, their father and mother died, and a great council was
held, and a man was chosen from among them who would rule the kingdom till the
boys were old enough to rule it themselves.
The
years passed on, and by-and-by another council was held, and it was agreed that
the king's sons were now of an age to take the power which rightly belonged to
them. So the youths were bidden to appear before the council, and Oireal the
elder was smaller and weaker than his brother.
'I
like not to leave the deer on the hill and the fish in the rivers, and sit in
judgment on my people,' said Oireal, when he had listened to the words of the
chief of the council. And the chief waxed angry, and answered quickly:
'Not
one clod of earth shall ever be yours if this day you do not take on yourself
the vows that were taken by the king your father.'
Then
spake Iarlaid, the younger, and he said: 'Let one half be yours, and the other
give to me; then you will have fewer people to rule over.'
'Yes,
I will do that,' answered Oireal.
After
this, one half of the men of the land of Lochlann did homage to Oireal, and the
other half to Iarlaid. And they governed their kingdoms as they would, and in a
few years they became grown men with beards on their chins; and Iarlaid married
the daughter of the king of Greece, and Oireal the daughter of the king of
Orkney. The next year sons were born to Oireal and Iarlaid; and the son of
Oireal was big and strong, but the son of Iarlaid was little and weak, and each
had six foster brothers who went everywhere with the princes.
One
day Manus, son of Oireal, and his cousin, the son of Iarlaid, called to their
foster brothers, and bade them come and play a game at shinny in the great
field near the school where they were taught all that princes and nobles should
know. Long they played, and swiftly did the ball pass from one to another, when
Manus drove the ball at his cousin, the son of Iarlaid. The boy, who was not
used to be roughly handled, even in jest, cried out that he was sorely hurt,
and went home with his foster brothers and told his tale to his mother. The
wife of Iarlaid grew white and angry as she listened, and thrusting her son
aside, sought the council hall where Iarlaid was sitting.
'Manus
has driven a ball at my son, and fain would have slain him,' said she. 'Let an
end be put to him and his ill deeds.'
But
Iarlaid answered:
'Nay,
I will not slay the son of my brother.'
'And
he shall not slay my son,' said the queen. And calling to her chamberlain she
ordered him to lead the prince to the four brown boundaries of the world, and
to leave him there with a wise man, who would care for him, and let no harm
befall him. And the wise man set the boy on the top of a hill where the sun
always shone, and he could see every man, but no man could see him.
Then
she summoned Manus to the castle, and for a whole year she kept him fast, and
his own mother could not get speech of him. But in the end, when the wife of
Oireal fell sick, Manus fled from the tower which was his prison, and stole
back to his on home.
For
a few years he stayed there in peace, and then the wife of Iarlaid his uncle
sent for him.
'It
is time that you were married,' she said, when she saw that Manus had grown
tall and strong like unto Iarlaid. 'Tall and strong you are, and comely of
face. I know a bride that will suit you well, and that is the daughter of the
mighty earl of Finghaidh, that does homage for his lands to me. I myself will
go with a great following to his house, and you shall go with me.'
Thus
it was done; and though the earl's wife was eager to keep her daughter with her
yet a while, she was fain to yield, as the wife of Iarlaid vowed that not a
rood of land should the earl have, unless he did her bidding. But if he would
give his daughter to Manus, she would bestow on him the third part of her own
kingdom, with much treasure beside. This she did, not from love to Manus, but
because she wished to destroy him. So they were married, and rode back with the
wife of Iarlaid to her own palace. And that night, while he was sleeping, there
came a wise man, who was his father's friend, and awoke him saying: 'Danger
lies very close to you, Manus, son of Oireal. You hold yourself favoured
because you have as a bride the daughter of a mighty earl; but do you know what
bride the wife of Iarlaid sought for her own son? It was no worldly wife she
found for him, but the swift March wind, and never can you prevail against
her.'
'Is
it thus?' answered Manu. And at the first streak of dawn he went to the chamber
where the queen lay in the midst of her maidens.
'I
have come,' he said, 'for the third part of the kingdom, and for the treasure
which you promised me.' But the wife of Iarlaid laughed as she heard him.
'Not
a clod shall you have here,' spake she. 'You must go to the Old Bergen for
that. Mayhap under its stones and rough mountains you may find a treasure!'
'Then
give me your son's six foster brothers as well as my own,' answered he. And the
queen gave them to him, and they set out for Old Bergen.
A
year passed by, and found them still in that wild land, hunting the reindeer,
and digging pits for the mountain sheep to fall into. For a time Manus and his
companions lived merrily, but at length Manus grew weary of the strange
country, and they all took ship for the land of Lochlann. The wind was fierce
and cold, and long was the voyage; but, one spring day, they sailed into the
harbour that lay beneath the castle of Iarlaid. The queen looked from her
window and beheld him mounting the hill, with the twelve foster brothers behind
him. Then she said to her husband: 'Manus has returned with his twelve foster
brothers. Would that I could put an end to him and his murdering and his
slaying.'
'That
were a great pity,' answered Iarlaid. 'And it is not I that will do it.'
'If
you will not do it I will,' said she. And she called the twelve foster brothers
and made them vow fealty to herself. So Manus was left with no man, and
sorrowful was he when he returned alone to Old Bergen. It was late when his
foot touched the shore, and took the path towards the forest. On his way there
met him a man in a red tunic.
'Is
it you, Manus, come back again?' asked he.
'It
is I,' answered Manus; 'alone have I returned from the land of Lochlann.'
The
man eyed him silently for a moment, and then he said:
'I
dreamed that you were girt with a sword and became king of Lochlann.' But Manus
answered:
'I
have no sword and my bow is broken.'
'I
will give you a new sword if you will make me a promise,' said the man once
more.
'To
be sure I will make it, if ever I am king,' answered Manus. 'But speak, and
tell me what promise I am to make.'
'I
was your grandfather's armourer,' replied the man, 'and I wish to be your
armourer also.'
'That
I will promise readily,' said Manus; and followed the man into his house, which
was at a little distance. But the house was not like other houses, for the
walls of every room were hung so thick with arms that you could not see the
boards.
'Choose
what you will,' said the man; and Manus unhooked a sword and tried it across
his knee, and it broke, and so did the next, and the next.
'Leave
off breaking the swords,' cried the man, 'and look at this old sword and helmet
and tunic that I wore in the wars of your grandfather. Perhaps you may find
them of stouter steel.' And Manus bent the sword thrice across his knee but he
could not break it. So he girded it to his side, and put on the old helmet. As
he fastened the strap his eye fell on a cloth flapping outside the window.
'What
cloth is that?' asked he.
'It
is a cloth that was woven by the Little People of the forest,' said the man;
'and when you are hungry it will give you food and drink, and if you meet a
foe, he will not hurt you, but will stoop and kiss the back of your hand in
token of submission. Take it, and use it well.' Manus gladly wrapped the shawl
round his arm, and was leaving the house, when he heard the rattling of a chain
blown by the wind.
'What
chain is that?' asked he.
'The
creature who has that chain round his neck, need not fear a hundred enemies,'
answered the armourer. And Manus wound it round him and passed on into the
forest.
Suddenly
there sprang out from the bushes two lions, and a lion cub with them. The
fierce beasts bounded towards him, roaring loudly, and would fain have eaten
him, but quickly Manus stooped and spread the cloth upon the ground. At that
the lions stopped, and bowing their great heads, kissed the back of his wrist
and went their ways. But the cub rolled itself up in the cloth; so Manus picked
them both up, and carried them with him to Old Bergen.
Another
year went by, and then he took the lion cub and set forth to the land of
Lochlann. And the wife of Iarlaid came to meet him, and a brown dog, small but
full of courage, came with her. When the dog beheld the lion cub he rushed
towards him, thinking to eat him; but the cub caught the dog by the neck, and
shook him, and he was dead. And the wife of Iarlaid mourned him sore, and her
wrath was kindled, and many times she tried to slay Manus and his cub, but she
could not. And at last they two went back to Old Bergen, and the twelve foster
brothers went also.
'Let
them go,' said the wife of Iarlaid, when she heard of it. 'My brother the Red
Gruagach will take the head off Manus as well in Old Bergen as elsewhere.'
Now
these words were carried by a messenger to the wife of Oireal, and she made
haste and sent a ship to Old Bergen to bear away her son before the Red
Gruagach should take the head off him. And in the ship was a pilot. But the
wife of Iarlaid made a thick fog to cover the face of the sea, and the rowers
could not row, lest they should drive the ship on to a rock. And when night
came, the lion cub, whose eyes were bright and keen, stole up to Manus, and
Manus got on his back, and the lion cub sprang ashore and bade Manus rest on
the rock and wait for him. So Manus slept, and by-and-by a voice sounded in his
ears, saying: 'Arise!' And he saw a ship in the water beneath him, and in the
ship sat the lion cup in the shape of the pilot.
Then
they sailed away through the fog, and none saw them; and they reached the land
of Lochlann, and the lion cub with the chain round his neck sprang from the
ship and Manus followed after. And the lion cub killed all the men that guarded
the castle, and Iarlaid and his wife also, so that, in the end, Manus son of Oireal
was crowned king of Lochlann.
[Shortened
from West Highland Tales.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f15]
Pinkel
the Thief
Long,
long ago there lived a widow who had three sons. The two eldest were grown up,
and though they were known to be idle fellows, some of the neighbours had given
them work to do on account of the respect in which their mother was held. But
at the time this story begins they had both been so careless and idle that
their masters declared they would keep them no longer.
So
home they went to their mother and youngest brother, of whom they thought
little, because he made himself useful about the house, and looked after the
hens, and milked the cow. 'Pinkel,' they called him in scorn, and by-and-by
'Pinkel' became his name throughout the village.
The
two young men thought it was much nicer to live at home and be idle than to be
obliged to do a quantity of disagreeable things they did not like, and they
would have stayed by the fire till the end of their lives had not the widow
lost patience with them and said that since they would not look for work at
home they must seek it elsewhere, for she would not have them under her roof
any longer. But she repented bitterly of her words when Pinkel told her that he
too was old enough to go out into the world, and that when he had made a
fortune he would send for his mother to keep house for him.
The
widow wept many tears at parting from her youngest son, but as she saw that his
heart was set upon going with his brothers, she did not try to keep him. So the
young men started off one morning in high spirits, never doubting that work
such as they might be willing to do would be had for the asking, as soon as
their little store of money was spent.
But
a very few days of wandering opened their eyes. Nobody seemed to want them, or,
if they did, the young men declared that they were not able to undertake all
that the farmers or millers or woodcutters required of them. The youngest
brother, who was wiser, would gladly have done some of the work that the others
refused, but he was small and slight, and no one thought of offering him any.
Therefore they went from one place to another, living only on the fruit and
nuts they could find in the woods, and getting hungrier every day.
One
night, after they had been walking for many hours and were very tired, they
came to a large lake with an island in the middle of it. From the island
streamed a strong light, by which they could see everything almost as clearly
as if the sun had been shining, and they perceived that, lying half hidden in
the rushes, was a boat.
'Let
us take it and row over to the island, where there must be a house,' said the
eldest brother; 'and perhaps they will give us food and shelter.' And they all
got in and rowed across in the direction of the light. As they drew near the
island they saw that it came from a golden lantern hanging over the door of a
hut, while sweet tinkling music proceeded from some bells attached to the golden
horns of a goat which was feeding near the cottage. The young men's hearts
rejoiced as they thought that at last they would be able to rest their weary
limbs, and they entered the hut, but were amazed to see an ugly old woman
inside, wrapped in a cloak of gold which lighted up the whole house. They
looked at each other uneasily as she came forward with her daughter, as they
knew by the cloak that this was a famous witch.
'What
do you want?' asked she, at the same time signing to her daughter to stir the large
pot on the fire.
'We
are tired and hungry, and would fain have shelter for the night,' answered the
eldest brother.
'You
cannot get it here,' said the witch, 'but you will find both food and shelter
in the palace on the other side of the lake. Take your boat and go; but leave
this boy with me--I can find work for him, though something tells me he is
quick and cunning, and will do me ill.'
'What
harm can a poor boy like me do a great Troll like you?' answered Pinkel. 'Let
me go, I pray you, with my brothers. I will promise never to hurt you.' And at
last the witch let him go, and he followed his brothers to the boat.
The
way was further than they thought, and it was morning before they reached the
palace.
Now,
at last, their luck seemed to have turned, for while the two eldest were given
places in the king's stables, Pinkel was taken as page to the little prince. He
was a clever and amusing boy, who saw everything that passed under his eyes,
and the king noticed this, and often employed him in his own service, which
made his brothers very jealous.
Things
went on this way for some time, and Pinkel every day rose in the royal favour.
At length the envy of his brothers became so great that they could bear it no
longer, and consulted together how best they might ruin his credit with the
king. They did not wish to kill him--though, perhaps, they would not have been
sorry if they had heard he was dead--but merely wished to remind him that he
was after all only a child, not half so old and wise as they.
Their
opportunity soon came. It happened to be the king's custom to visit his stables
once a week, so that he might see that his horses were being properly cared
for. The next time he entered the stables the two brothers managed to be in the
way, and when the king praised the beautiful satin skins of the horses under
their charge, and remarked how different was their condition when his grooms
had first come across the lake, the young men at once began to speak of the
wonderful light which sprang from the lantern over the hut. The king, who had a
passion for collection all the rarest things he could find, fell into the trap
directly, and inquired where he could get this marvellous lantern.
'Send
Pinkel for it, Sire,' said they. 'It belongs to an old witch, who no doubt came
by it in some evil way. But Pinkel has a smooth tongue, and he can get the
better of any woman, old or young.'
'Then
bid him go this very night,' cried the king; 'and if he brings me the lantern I
will make him one of the chief men about my person.'
Pinkel
was much pleased at the thought of his adventure, and without more ado he
borrowed a little boat which lay moored to the shore, and rowed over to the
island at once. It was late by the time he arrived, and almost dark, but he
knew by the savoury smell that reached him that the witch was cooking her
supper. So he climbed softly on to the roof, and, peering, watched till the old
woman's back was turned, when he quickly drew a handful of salt from his pocket
and threw it into the pot. Scarcely had he done this when the witch called her
daughter and bade her lift the pot off the fire and put the stew into a dish,
as it had been cooking quite long enough and she was hungry. But no sooner had
she tasted it than she put her spoon down, and declared that her daughter must
have been meddling with it, for it was impossible to eat anything that was all
made of salt.
'Go
down to the spring in the valley, and get some fresh water, that I may prepare
a fresh supper,' cried she, 'for I feel half-starved.'
'But,
mother,' answered the girl, 'how can I find the well in this darkness? For you
know that the lantern's rays shed no light down there.'
'Well,
then, take the lantern with you,' answered the witch, 'for supper I must have, and
there is no water that is nearer.'
So
the girl took her pail in one hand and the golden lantern in the other, and
hastened away to the well, followed by Pinkel, who took care to keep out of the
way of the rays. When at last she stooped to fill her pail at the well Pinkel
pushed her into it, and snatching up the lantern hurried back to his boat and
rowed off from the shore.
He
was already a long distance from the island when the witch, who wondered what
had become of her daughter, went to the door to look for her. Close around the
hut was thick darkness, but what was that bobbing light that streamed across
the water? The witch's heart sank as all at once it flashed upon her what had
happened.
'Is
that you, Pinkel?' cried she; and the youth answered:
'Yes,
dear mother, it is I!'
'And
are you not a knave for robbing me?' said she.
'Truly,
dear mother, I am,' replied Pinkel, rowing faster than ever, for he was half
afraid that the witch might come after him. But she had no power on the water,
and turned angrily into the hut, muttering to herself all the while:
'Take
care! take care! A second time you will not escape so easily!'
The
sun had not yet risen when Pinkel returned to the palace, and, entering the
king's chamber, he held up the lantern so that its rays might fall upon the
bed. In an instant the king awoke, and seeing the golden lantern shedding its
light upon him, he sprang up, and embraced Pinkel with joy.
'O
cunning one,' cried he, 'what treasure hast thou brought me!' And calling for
his attendants he ordered that rooms next his own should be prepared for
Pinkel, and that the youth might enter his presence at any hour. And besides
this, he was to have a seat on the council.
It
may easily be guessed that all this made the brothers more envious than they
were before; and they cast about in their minds afresh how best they might
destroy him. At length they remembered the goat with golden horns and the
bells, and they rejoiced; 'For,' said they, 'THIS time the old woman will be on
the watch, and let him be as clever as he likes, the bells on the horns are
sure to warn her.' So when, as before, the king came down to the stables and
praised the cleverness of their brother, the young men told him of that other
marvel possessed by the witch, the goat with the golden horns.
From
this moment the king never closed his eyes at night for longing after this
wonderful creature. He understood something of the danger that there might be
in trying to steal it, now that the witch's suspicions were aroused, and he
spent hours in making plans for outwitting her. But somehow he never could
think of anything that would do, and at last, as the brothers had foreseen, he
sent for Pinkel.
'I
hear,' he said, 'that the old witch on the island has a goat with golden horns
from which hang bells that tinkle the sweetest music. That goat I must have!
But, tell me, how am I to get it? I would give the third part of my kingdom to
anyone who would bring it to me.'
'I
will fetch it myself,' answered Pinkel.
This
time it was easier for Pinkel to approach the island unseen, as there was no
golden lantern to thrown its beams over the water. But, on the other hand, the
goat slept inside the hut, and would therefore have to be taken from under the
very eyes of the old woman. How was he to do it? All the way across the lake he
thought and thought, till at length a plan came into his head which seemed as
if it might do, though he knew it would be very difficult to carry out.
The
first thing he did when he reached the shore was to look about for a piece of
wood, and when he had found it he hid himself close to the hut, till it grew
quite dark and near the hour when the witch and her daughter went to bed. Then
he crept up and fixed the wood under the door, which opened outwards, in such a
manner that the more you tried to shut it the more firmly it stuck. And this
was what happened when the girl went as usual to bolt the door and make all
fast for the night.
'What
are you doing?' asked the witch, as her daughter kept tugging at the handle.
'There
is something the matter with the door; it won't shut,' answered she.
'Well,
leave it alone; there is nobody to hurt us,' said the witch, who was very
sleepy; and the girl did as she was bid, and went to bed. Very soon they both
might have been heard snoring, and Pinkel knew that his time was come. Slipping
off his shoes he stole into the hut on tiptoe, and taking from his pocket some
food of which the goat was particularly fond, he laid it under his nose. Then,
while the animal was eating it, he stuffed each golden bell with wool which he
had also brought with him, stopping every minute to listen, lest the witch
should awaken, and he should find himself changed into some dreadful bird or
beast. But the snoring still continued, and he went on with his work as quickly
as he could. When the last bell was done he drew another handful of food out of
his pocket, and held it out to the goat, which instantly rose to its feet and
followed Pinkel, who backed slowly to the door, and directly he got outside he
seized the goat in his arms and ran down to the place where he had moored his
boat.
As
soon as he had reached the middle of the lake, Pinkel took the wool out of the
bells, which began to tinkle loudly. Their sound awoke the witch, who cried out
as before:
'Is
that you, Pinkel?'
'Yes,
dear mother, it is I,' said Pinkel.
'Have
you stolen my golden goat?' asked she.
'Yes,
dear mother, I have,' answered Pinkel.
'Are
you not a knave, Pinkel?'
'Yes,
dear mother, I am,' he replied. And the old witch shouted in a rage:
'Ah!
beware how you come hither again, for next time you shall not escape me!'
But
Pinkel laughed and rowed on.
The
king was so delighted with the goat that he always kept it by his side, night
and day; and, as he had promised, Pinkel was made ruler over the third part of
the kingdom. As may be supposed, the brothers were more furious than ever, and
grew quite thin with rage.
'How
can we get rid of him?' said one to the other. And at length they remembered
the golden cloak.
'He
will need to be clever if he is to steal that!' they cried, with a chuckle. And
when next the king came to see his horses they began to speak of Pinkel and his
marvellous cunning, and how he had contrived to steal the lantern and the goat,
which nobody else would have been able to do.
'But
as he was there, it is a pity he could not have brought away the golden cloak,'
added they.
'The
golden cloak! what is that?' asked the king. And the young men described its
beauties in such glowing words that the king declared he should never know a
day's happiness till he had wrapped the cloak round his own shoulders.
'And,'
added he, 'the man who brings it to me shall wed my daughter, and shall inherit
my throne.'
'None
can get it save Pinkel,' said they; for they did not imagine that the witch,
after two warnings, could allow their brother to escape a third time. So Pinkel
was sent for, and with a glad heart he set out.
He
passed many hours inventing first one plan and then another, till he had a
scheme ready which he thought might prove successful.
Thrusting
a large bag inside his coat, he pushed off from the shore, taking care this
time to reach the island in daylight. Having made his boat fast to a tree, he
walked up to the hut, hanging his head, and putting on a face that was both
sorrowful and ashamed.
'Is
that you, Pinkel?' asked the witch when she saw him, her eyes gleaming
savagely.
'Yes,
dear mother, it is I,' answered Pinkel.
'So
you have dared, after all you have done, to put yourself in my power!' cried
she. 'Well, you sha'n't escape me THIS time!' And she took down a large knife
and began to sharpen it.'
'Oh!
dear mother, spare me!' shrieked Pinkel, falling on his knees, and looking
wildly about him.
'Spare
you, indeed, you thief! Where are my lantern and my goat? No! not! there is
only one fate for robbers!' And she brandished the knife in the air so that it
glittered in the firelight.
'Then,
if I must die,' said Pinkel, who, by this time, was getting really rather
frightened, 'let me at least choose the manner of my death. I am very hungry,
for I have had nothing to eat all day. Put some poison, if you like, into the
porridge, but at least let me have a good meal before I die.'
'That
is not a bad idea,' answered the woman; 'as long as you do die, it is all one
to me.' And ladling out a large bowl of porridge, she stirred some poisonous
herbs into it, and set about work that had to be done. Then Pinkel hastily
poured all the contents of the bowl into his bag, and make a great noise with
his spoon, as if he was scraping up the last morsel.
'Poisoned
or not, the porridge is excellent. I have eaten it, every scrap; do give me
some more,' said Pinkel, turning towards her.
'Well,
you have a fine appetite, young man,' answered the witch; 'however, it is the
last time you will ever eat it, so I will give you another bowlful.' And
rubbing in the poisonous herbs, she poured him out half of what remained, and
then went to the window to call her cat.
In
an instant Pinkel again emptied the porridge into the bag, and the next minute
he rolled on the floor, twisting himself about as if in agony, uttering loud
groans the while. Suddenly he grew silent and lay still.
'Ah!
I thought a second dose of that poison would be too much for you,' said the
witch looking at him. 'I warned you what would happen if you came back. I wish
that all thieves were as dead as you! But why does not my lazy girl bring the
wood I sent her for, it will soon be too dark for her to find her way? I
suppose I must go and search for her. What a trouble girls are!' And she went
to the door to watch if there were any signs of her daughter. But nothing could
be seen of her, and heavy rain was falling.
'It
is no night for my cloak,' she muttered; 'it would be covered with mud by the
time I got back.' So she took it off her shoulders and hung it carefully up in
a cupboard in the room. After that she put on her clogs and started to seek her
daughter. Directly the last sound of the clogs had ceased, Pinkel jumped up and
took down the cloak, and rowed off as fast as he could.
He
had not gone far when a puff of wind unfolded the cloak, and its brightness
shed gleams across the water. The witch, who was just entering the forest,
turned round at that moment and saw the golden rays. She forgot all about her
daughter, and ran down to the shore, screaming with rage at being outwitted a
third time.
'Is
that you, Pinkel?' cried she.
'Yes,
dear mother, it is I.'
'Have
you taken my gold cloak?'
'Yes,
dear mother, I have.'
'Are
you not a great knave?'
'Yes,
truly dear mother, I am.'
And
so indeed he was!
But,
all the same, he carried the cloak to the king's palace, and in return he
received the hand of the king's daughter in marriage. People said that it was
the bride who ought to have worn the cloak at her wedding feast; but the king
was so pleased with it that he would not part from it; and to the end of his
life was never seen without it. After his death, Pinkel became king; and let up
hope that he gave up his bad and thievish ways, and ruled his subjects well. As
for his brothers, he did not punish them, but left them in the stables, where
they grumbled all day long.
[Thorpe's
Yule-Tide Stories.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f16]
The
Adventures of a Jackal
In
a country which is full of wild beasts of all sorts there once lived a jackal
and a hedgehog, and, unlike though they were, the two animals made great
friends, and were often seen in each other's company.
One
afternoon they were walking along a road together, when the jackal, who was the
taller of the two, exclaimed:
'Oh!
there is a barn full of corn; let us go and eat some.'
'Yes,
do let us!' answered the hedgehog. So they went to the barn, and ate till they
could eat no more. Then the jackal put on his shoes, which he had taken off so
as to make no noise, and they returned to the high road.
After
they had gone some way they met a panther, who stopped, and bowing politely,
said:
'Excuse
my speaking to you, but I cannot help admiring those shoes of yours. Do you
mind telling me who made them?'
'Yes,
I think they are rather nice,' answered the jackal; 'I made them myself,
though.'
'Could
you make me a pair like them?' asked the panther eagerly.
'I
would do my best, of course,' replied the jackal; 'but you must kill me a cow,
and when we have eaten the flesh I will take the skin and make your shoes out
of it.'
So
the panther prowled about until he saw a fine cow grazing apart from the rest
of the herd. He killed it instantly, and then gave a cry to the jackal and
hedgehog to come to the place where he was. They soon skinned the dead beasts,
and spread its skin out to dry, after which they had a grand feast before they
curled themselves up for the night, and slept soundly.
Next
morning the jackal got up early and set to work upon the shoes, while the
panther sat by and looked on with delight. At last they were finished, and the
jackal arose and stretched himself.
'Now
go and lay them in the sun out there,' said he; 'in a couple of hours they will
be ready to put on; but do not attempt to wear them before, or you will feel
them most uncomfortable. But I see the sun is high in the heavens, and we must
be continuing our journey.'
The
panther, who always believed what everybody told him, did exactly as he was
bid, and in two hours' time began to fasten on the shoes. They certainly set
off his paws wonderfully, and he stretched out his forepaws and looked at them
with pride. But when he tried to walk--ah! that was another story! They were so
stiff and hard that he nearly shrieked every step he took, and at last he sank
down where he was, and actually began to cry.
After
some time some little partridges who were hopping about heard the poor
panther's groans, and went up to see what was the matter. He had never tried to
make his dinner off them, and they had always been quite friendly.
'You
seem in pain,' said one of them, fluttering close to him, 'can we help you?'
'Oh,
it is the jackal! He made me these shoes; they are so hard and tight that they
hurt my feet, and I cannot manage to kick them off.'
'Lie
still, and we will soften them,' answered the kind little partridge. And
calling to his brothers, they all flew to the nearest spring, and carried water
in their beaks, which they poured over the shoes. This they did till the hard
leather grew soft, and the panther was able to slip his feet out of them.
'Oh,
thank you, thank you,' he cried, skipping round with joy. 'I feel a different
creature. Now I will go after the jackal and pay him my debts.' And he bounded
away into the forest.
But
the jackal had been very cunning, and had trotted backwards and forwards and in
and out, so that it was very difficult to know which track he had really
followed. At length, however, the panther caught sight of his enemy, at the
same moment that the jackal had caught sight of him. The panther gave a loud
roar, and sprang forward, but the jackal was too quick for him and plunged into
a dense thicket, where the panther could not follow.
Disgusted
with his failure, but more angry than ever, the panther lay down for a while to
consider what he should do next, and as he was thinking, an old man came by.
'Oh!
father, tell me how I can repay the jackal for the way he has served me!' And
without more ado he told his story.
'If
you take my advice,' answered the old man, 'you will kill a cow, and invite all
the jackals in the forest to the feast. Watch them carefully while they are
eating, and you will see that most of them keep their eyes on their food. But
if one of them glances at you, you will know that is the traitor.'
The
panther, whose manners were always good, thanked the old man, and followed his
counsel. The cow was killed, and the partridges flew about with invitations to
the jackals, who gathered in large numbers to the feast. The wicked jackal came
amongst them; but as the panther had only seen him once he could not distinguish
him from the rest. However, they all took their places on wooden seats placed
round the dead cow, which was laid across the boughs of a fallen tree, and
began their dinner, each jackal fixing his eyes greedily on the piece of meat
before him. Only one of them seemed uneasy, and every now and then glanced in
the direction of his host. This the panther noticed, and suddenly made a bound
at the culprit and seized his tail; but again the jackal was too quick for him,
and catching up a knife he cut off his tail and darted into the forest,
followed by all the rest of the party. And before the panther had recovered
from his surprise he found himself alone.
'What
am I to do now?' he asked the old man, who soon came back to see how things had
turned out.
'It
is very unfortunate, certainly,' answered he; 'but I think I know where you can
find him. There is a melon garden about two miles from here, and as jackals are
very fond of melons they are nearly sure to have gone there to feed. If you see
a tailless jackal you will know that he is the one you want.' So the panther
thanked him and went his way.
Now
the jackal had guessed what advice the old man would give his enemy, and so,
while his friends were greedily eating the ripest melons in the sunniest corner
of the garden, he stole behind them and tied their tails together. He had only
just finished when his ears caught the sound of breaking branches; and he
cried: 'Quick! quick! here comes the master of the garden!' And the jackals
sprang up and ran away in all directions, leaving their tails behind them. And
how was the panther to know which was his enemy?
'They
none of them had any tails,' he said sadly to the old man, 'and I am tired of
hunting them. I shall leave them alone and go and catch something for supper.'
Of
course the hedgehog had not been able to take part in any of these adventures;
but as soon as all danger was over, the jackal went to look for his friend,
whom he was lucky enough to find at home.
'Ah,
there you are,' he said gaily. 'I have lost my tail since I saw you last. And
other people have lost theirs too; but that is no matter! I am hungry, so come
with me to the shepherd who is sitting over there, and we will ask him to sell
us one of his sheep.'
'Yes,
that is a good plan,' answered the hedgehog. And he walked as fast as his
little legs would go to keep up with the jackal. When they reached the shepherd
the jackal pulled out his purse from under his foreleg, and made his bargain.
'Only
wait till to-morrow,' said the shepherd, 'and I will give you the biggest sheep
you ever saw. But he always feeds at some distance from the rest of the flock,
and it would take me a long time to catch him.'
'Well,
it is very tiresome, but I suppose I must wait,' replied the jackal. And he and
the hedgehog looked about for a nice dry cave in which to make themselves
comfortable for the night. But, after they had gone, the shepherd killed one of
his sheep, and stripped off his skin, which he sewed tightly round a greyhound
he had with him, and put a cord round its neck. Then he lay down and went to
sleep.
Very,
very early, before the sun was properly up, the jackal and the hedgehog were
pulling at the shepherd's cloak.
'Wake
up,' they said, 'and give us that sheep. We have had nothing to eat all night,
and are very hungry.'
The
shepherd yawned and rubbed his eyes. 'He is tied up to that tree; go and take
him.' So they went to the tree and unfastened the cord, and turned to go back
to the cave where they had slept, dragging the greyhound after them. When they
reached the cave the jackal said to the hedgehog.
'Before
I kill him let me see whether he is fat or thin.' And he stood a little way
back, so that he might the better examine the animal. After looking at him,
with his head on one side, for a minute or two, he nodded gravely.
'He
is quite fat enough; he is a good sheep.'
But
the hedgehog, who sometimes showed more cunning than anyone would have guessed,
answered:
'My
friend, you are talking nonsense. The wool is indeed a sheep's wool, but the
paws of my uncle the greyhound peep out from underneath.'
'He
is a sheep,' repeated the jackal, who did not like to think anyone cleverer
than himself.
'Hold
the cord while I look at him,' answered the hedgehog.
Very
unwillingly the jackal held the rope, while the hedgehog walked slowly round
the greyhound till he reached the jackal again. He knew quite well by the paws
and tail that it was a greyhound and not a sheep, that the shepherd had sold
them; and as he could not tell what turn affairs might take, he resolved to get
out of the way.
'Oh!
yes, you are right,' he said to the jackal; 'but I never can eat till I have
first drunk. I will just go and quench my thirst from that spring at the edge
of the wood, and then I shall be ready for breakfast.'
'Don't
be long, then,' called the jackal, as the hedgehog hurried off at his best
pace. And he lay down under a rock to wait for him.
More
than an hour passed by and the hedgehog had had plenty of time to go to the
spring and back, and still there was no sign of him. And this was very natural,
as he had hidden himself in some long grass under a tree!
At
length the jackal guessed that for some reason his friend had run away, and
determined to wait for his breakfast no longer. So he went up to the place
where the greyhound had been tethered and untied the rope. But just as he was
about to spring on his back and give him a deadly bite, the jackal heard a low
growl, which never proceeded from the throat of any sheep. Like a flash of
lightning the jackal threw down the cord and was flying across the plain; but
though his legs were long, the greyhound's legs were longer still, and he soon
came up with his prey. The jackal turned to fight, but he was no match for the
greyhound, and in a few minutes he was lying dead on the ground, while the
greyhound was trotting peacefully back to the shepherd.
[Nouveaux
Contes Berberes, par Rene Basset.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f17]
The
Adventures of the Jackal's Eldest Son
Now,
though the jackal was dead, he had left two sons behind him, every whit as
cunning and tricky as their father. The elder of the two was a fine handsome
creature, who had a pleasant manner and made many friends. The animal he saw
most of was a hyena; and one day, when they were taking a walk together, they
picked up a beautiful green cloak, which had evidently been dropped by some one
riding across the plain on a camel. Of course each wanted to have it, and they
almost quarrelled over the matter; but at length it was settled that the hyena
should wear the cloak by day and the jackal by night. After a little while,
however, the jackal became discontented with this arrangement, declaring that
none of his friends, who were quite different from those of the hyena, could
see the splendour of the mantle, and that it was only fair that he should
sometimes be allowed to wear it by day. To this the hyena would by no means
consent, and they were on the eve of a quarrel when the hyena proposed that
they should ask the lion to judge between them. The jackal agreed to this, and
the hyena wrapped the cloak about him, and they both trotted off to the lion's
den.
The
jackal, who was fond of talking, at once told the story; and when it was
finished the lion turned to the hyena and asked if it was true.
'Quite
true, your majesty,' answered the hyena.
'Then
lay the cloak on the ground at my feet,' said the lion, 'and I will give my
judgment.' So the mantle was spread upon the red earth, the hyena and the
jackal standing on each side of it.
There
was silence for a few moments, and then the lion sat up, looking very great and
wise.
'My
judgment is that the garment shall belong wholly to whoever first rings the
bell of the nearest mosque at dawn to-morrow. Now go; for much business awaits
me!'
All
that night the hyena sat up, fearing lest the jackal should reach the bell
before him, for the mosque was close at hand. With the first streak of dawn he
bounded away to the bell, just as the jackal, who had slept soundly all night,
was rising to his feet. 'Good luck to you,' cried the jackal. And throwing the
cloak over his back he darted away across the plain, and was seen no more by
his friend the hyena.
After
running several miles the jackal thought he was safe from pursuit, and seeing a
lion and another hyena talking together, he strolled up to join them.
'Good
morning,' he said; 'may I ask what is the matter? You seem very serious about
something.'
'Pray
sit down,' answered the lion. 'We were wondering in which direction we should
go to find the best dinner. The hyena wishes to go to the forest, and I to the
mountains. What do you say?'
'Well,
as I was sauntering over the plain, just now, I noticed a flock of sheep grazing,
and some of them had wandered into a little valley quite out of sight of the
shepherd. If you keep among the rocks you will never be observed. But perhaps
you will allow me to go with you and show you the way?'
'You
are really very kind,' answered the lion. And they crept steadily along till at
length they reached the mouth of the valley where a ram, a sheep and a lamb
were feeding on the rich grass, unconscious of their danger.
'How
shall we divide them?' asked the lion in a whisper to the hyena.
'Oh,
it is easily done,' replied the hyena. 'The lamb for me, the sheep for the
jackal, and the ram for the lion.'
'So
I am to have that lean creature, which is nothing but horns, am I?' cried the
lion in a rage. 'I will teach you to divide things in that manner!' And he gave
the hyena two great blows, which stretched him dead in a moment. Then he turned
to the jackal and said: 'How would you divide them?'
'Quite
differently from the hyena,' replied the jackal. 'You will breakfast off the
lamb, you will dine off the sheep, and you will sup off the ram.'
'Dear
me, how clever you are! Who taught you such wisdom?' exclaimed the lion,
looking at him admiringly.
'The
fate of the hyena,' answered the jackal, laughing, and running off at his best
speed; for he saw two men armed with spears coming close behind the lion!
The
jackal continued to run till at last he could run no longer. He flung himself
under a tree panting for breath, when he heard a rustle amongst the grass, and
his father's old friend the hedgehog appeared before him.
'Oh,
is it you?' asked the little creature; 'how strange that we should meet so far
from home!'
'I
have just had a narrow escape of my life,' gasped the jackal, 'and I need some
sleep. After that we must think of something to do to amuse ourselves.' And he
lay down again and slept soundly for a couple of hours.
'Now
I am ready,' said he; 'have you anything to propose?'
'In
a valley beyond those trees,' answered the hedgehog, 'there is a small
farmhouse where the best butter in the world is made. I know their ways, and in
an hour's time the farmer's wife will be off to milk the cows, which she keeps
at some distance. We could easily get in at the window of the shed where she
keeps the butter, and I will watch, lest some one should come unexpectedly,
while you have a good meal. Then you shall watch, and I will eat.'
'That
sounds a good plan,' replied the jackal; and they set off together.
But
when they reached the farmhouse the jackal said to the hedgehog: 'Go in and
fetch the pots of butter and I will hide them in a safe place.'
'Oh
no,' cried the hedgehog, 'I really couldn't. They would find out directly! And,
besides, it is so different just eating a little now and then.'
'Do
as I bid you at once,' said the jackal, looking at the hedgehog so sternly that
the little fellow dared say no more, and soon rolled the jars to the window
where the jackal lifted them out one by one.
When
they were all in a row before him he gave a sudden start.
'Run
for your life,' he whispered to his companion; 'I see the woman coming over the
hill!' And the hedgehog, his heart beating, set off as fast as he could. The
jackal remained where he was, shaking with laughter, for the woman was not in
sight at all, and he had only sent the hedgehog away because he did not want
him to know where the jars of butter were buried. But every day he stole out to
their hiding-place and had a delicious feast.
At
length, one morning, the hedgehog suddenly said:
'You
never told me what you did with those jars?'
'Oh,
I hid them safely till the farm people should have forgotten all about them,'
replied the jackal. 'But as they are still searching for them we must wait a
little longer, and then I'll bring them home, and we will share them between
us.'
So
the hedgehog waited and waited; but every time he asked if there was no chance
of getting jars of butter the jackal put him off with some excuse. After a
while the hedgehog became suspicious, and said:
'I
should like to know where you have hidden them. To-night, when it is quite
dark, you shall show me the place.'
'I
really can't tell you,' answered the jackal. 'You talk so much that you would
be sure to confide the secret to somebody, and then we should have had our trouble
for nothing, besides running the risk of our necks being broken by the farmer.
I can see that he is getting disheartened, and very soon he will give up the
search. Have patience just a little longer.'
The
hedgehop said no more, and pretended to be satisfied; but when some days had
gone by he woke the jackal, who was sleeping soundly after a hunt which had
lasted several hours.
'I
have just had notice,' remarked the hedgehog, shaking him, 'that my family wish
to have a banquet to-morrow, and they have invited you to it. Will you come?'
'Certainly,'
answered the jackal, 'with pleasure. But as I have to go out in the morning you
can meet me on the road.'
'That
will do very well,' replied the hedgehog. And the jackal went to sleep again,
for he was obliged to be up early.
Punctual
to the moment the hedgehog arrived at the place appointed for their meeting,
and as the jackal was not there he sat down and waited for him.
'Ah,
there you are!' he cried, when the dusky yellow form at last turned the corner.
'I had nearly given you up! Indeed, I almost wish you had not come, for I
hardly know where I shall hide you.'
'Why
should you hide me anywhere?' asked the jackal. 'What is the matter with you?'
'Well,
so many of the guests have brought their dogs and mules with them, that I fear
it may hardly be safe for you to go amongst them. No; don't run off that way,'
he added quickly, 'because there is another troop that are coming over the
hill. Lie down here, and I will throw these sacks over you; and keep still for
your life, whatever happens.'
And
what did happen was, that when the jackal was lying covered up, under a little
hill, the hedgehog set a great stone rolling, which crushed him to death.
[Contes
Berberes.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f18]
The
Adventures of the Younger Son of the Jackal
Now
that the father and elder brother were both dead, all that was left of the
jackal family was one son, who was no less cunning than the others had been. He
did not like staying in the same place any better than they, and nobody ever
knew in what part of the country he might be found next.
One
day, when we was wandering about he beheld a nice fat sheep, which was cropping
the grass and seemed quite contented with her lot.
'Good
morning,' said the jackal, 'I am so glad to see you. I have been looking for
you everywhere.'
'For
ME?' answered the sheep, in an astonished voice; 'but we have never met
before!'
'No;
but I have heard of you. Oh! You don't know what fine things I have heard! Ah,
well, some people have all the luck!'
'You
are very kind, I am sure,' answered the sheep, not knowing which way to look.
'Is there any way in which I can help you?'
'There
is something that I had set my heart on, though I hardly like to propose it on
so short an acquaintance; but from what people have told me, I thought that you
and I might keep house together comfortably, if you would only agree to try. I
have several fields belonging to me, and if they are kept well watered they
bear wonderful crops.'
'Perhaps
I might come for a short time,' said the sheep, with a little hesitation; 'and
if we do not get on, we can part company.'
'Oh,
thank you, thank you,' cried the jackal; 'do not let us lose a moment.' And he
held out his paw in such an inviting manner that the sheep got up and trotted
beside him till they reached home.
'Now,'
said the jackal, 'you go to the well and fetch the water, and I will pour it
into the trenches that run between the patches of corn.' And as he did so he
sang lustily. The work was very hard, but the sheep did not grumble, and
by-and-by was rewarded at seeing the little green heads poking themselves
through earth. After that the hot sun ripened them quickly, and soon harvest
time was come. Then the grain was cut and ground and ready for sale.
When
everything was complete, the jackal said to the sheep:
'Now
let us divide it, so that we can each do what we like with his share.'
'You
do it,' answered the sheep; 'here are the scales. You must weigh it carefully.'
So
the jackal began to weigh it, and when he had finished, he counted out loud:
'One,
two, three, four, five, six, seven parts for the jackal, and one part for the
sheep. If she likes it she can take it, if not, she can leave it.'
The
sheep looked at the two heaps in silence--one so large, the other so small; and
then she answered:
'Wait
for a minute, while I fetch some sacks to carry away my share.'
But
it was not sacks that the sheep wanted; for as soon as the jackal could no
longer see her she set forth at her best pace to the home of the greyhound,
where she arrived panting with the haste she had made.
'Oh,
good uncle, help me, I pray you!' she cried, as soon as she could speak.
'Why,
what is the matter?' asked the greyhound, looking up with astonishment.
'I
beg you to return with me, and frighten the jackal into paying me what he owes
me,' answered the sheep. 'For months we have lived together, and I have twice
every day drawn the water, while he only poured it into the trenches. Together
we have reaped our harvest; and now, when the moment to divide our crop has
come, he has taken seven parts for himself, and only left one for me.'
She
finished, and giving herself a twist, passed her woolly tail across her eyes;
while the greyhound watched her, but held his peace. Then he said:
'Bring
me a sack.' And the sheep hastened away to fetch one. Very soon she returned,
and laid the sack down before him.
'Open
it wide, that I may get in,' cried he; and when he was comfortably rolled up
inside he bade the sheep take him on her back, and hasten to the place where
she had left the jackal.
She
found him waiting for her, and pretending to be asleep, though she clearly saw
him wink one of his eyes. However, she took no notice, but throwing the sack
roughly on the ground, she exclaimed:
'Now
measure!'
At
this the jackal got up, and going to the heap of grain which lay close by, he
divided it as before into eight portions--seven for himself and one for the
sheep.
'What
are you doing that for?' asked she indignantly. 'You know quite well that it
was I who drew the water, and you who only poured it into the trenches.'
'You
are mistaken,' answered the jackal. 'It was I who drew the water, and you who
poured it into the trenches. Anybody will tell you that! If you like, I will
ask those people who are digging there!'
'Very
well,' replied the sheep. And the jackal called out:
'Ho!
You diggers, tell me: Who was it you heard singing over the work?'
'Why,
it was you, of course, jackal! You sang so loud that the whole world might have
heard you!'
'And
who it is that sings--he who draws the water, or he who empties it?'
'Why,
certainly he who draws the water!'
'You
hear?' said the jackal, turning to the sheep. 'Now come and carry away your own
portion, or else I shall take it for myself.'
'You
have got the better of me,' answered the sheep; 'and I suppose I must confess
myself beaten! But as I bear no malice, go and eat some of the dates that I
have brought in that sack.' And the jackal, who loved dates, ran instantly
back, and tore open the mouth of the sack. But just as he was about to plunge
his nose in he saw two brown eyes calmly looking at him. In an instant he had
let fall the flap of the sack and bounded back to where the sheep was standing.
'I
was only in fun; and you have brought my uncle the greyhound. Take away the
sack, we will make the division over again.' And he began rearranging the
heaps.
'One,
two, three, four, five, six, seven, for my mother the sheep, and one for the
jackal,' counted he; casting timid glances all the while at the sack.
'Now
you can take your share and go,' said the sheep. And the jackal did not need
twice telling! Whenever the sheep looked up, she still saw him flying, flying
across the plain; and, for all I know, he may be flying across it still.
[Contes
Berberes, par Rene Basset.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f19]
The
Three Treasures of the Giants
Long,
long ago, there lived an old man and his wife who had three sons; the eldest
was called Martin, the second Michael, while the third was named Jack.
One
evening they were all seated round the table, eating their supper of bread and
milk.
'Martin,'
said the old man suddenly, 'I feel that I cannot live much longer. You, as the
eldest, will inherit this hut; but, if you value my blessing, be good to your
mother and brothers.'
'Certainly,
father; how can you suppose I should do them wrong?' replied Martin
indignantly, helping himself to all the best bits in the dish as he spoke. The
old man saw nothing, but Michael looked on in surprise, and Jack was so
astonished that he quite forgot to eat his own supper.
A
little while after, the father fell ill, and sent for his sons, who were out
hunting, to bid him farewell. After giving good advice to the two eldest, he
turned to Jack.
'My
boy,' he said, 'you have not got quite as much sense as other people, but if
Heaven has deprived you of some of your wits, it was given you a kind heart.
Always listen to what it says, and take heed to the words of your mother and
brothers, as well as you are able!' So saying the old man sank back on his
pillows and died.
The
cries of grief uttered by Martin and Michael sounded through the house, but
Jack remained by the bedside of his father, still and silent, as if he were
dead also. At length he got up, and going into the garden, hid himself in some
trees, and wept like a child, while his two brothers made ready for the
funeral.
No
sooner was the old man buried than Martin and Michael agreed that they would go
into the world together to seek their fortunes, while Jack stayed at home with
their mother. Jack would have liked nothing better than to sit and dream by the
fire, but the mother, who was very old herself, declared that there was no work
for him to do, and that he must seek it with his brothers.
So,
one fine morning, all three set out; Martin and Michael carried two great bags
full of food, but Jack carried nothing. This made his brothers very angry, for
the day was hot and the bags were heavy, and about noon they sat down under a
tree and began to eat. Jack was as hungry as they were, but he knew that it was
no use asking for anything; and he threw himself under another tree, and wept
bitterly.
'Another
time perhaps you won't be so lazy, and will bring food for yourself,' said
Martin, but to his surprise Jack answered:
'You
are a nice pair! You talk of seeking your fortunes so as not to be a burden on
our mother, and you begin by carrying off all the food she has in the house!'
This
reply was so unexpected that for some moments neither of the brothers made any
answer. Then they offered their brother some of their food, and when he had
finished eating they went their way once more.
Towards
evening they reached a small hut, and knocking at the door, asked if they might
spend the night there. The man, who was a wood-cutter, invited them him, and
begged them to sit down to supper. Martin thanked him, but being very proud,
explained that it was only shelter they wanted, as they had plenty of food with
them; and he and Michael at once opened their bags and began to eat, while Jack
hid himself in a corner. The wife, on seeing this, took pity on him, and called
him to come and share their supper, which he gladly did, and very good he found
it. At this, Martin regretted deeply that he had been so foolish as to refuse,
for his bits of bread and cheese seemed very hard when he smelt the savoury
soup his brother was enjoying.
'He
shan't have such a chance again,' thought he; and the next morning he insisted
on plunging into a thick forest where they were likely to meet nobody.
For
a long time they wandered hither and thither, for they had no path to guide
them; but at last they came upon a wide clearing, in the midst of which stood a
castle. Jack shouted with delight, but Martin, who was in a bad temper, said
sharply:
'We
must have taken a wrong turning! Let us go back.'
'Idiot!'
replied Michael, who was hungry too, and, like many people when they are
hungry, very cross also. 'We set out to travel through the world, and what does
it matter if we go to the right or to the left?' And, without another word,
took the path to the castle, closely followed by Jack, and after a moment by
Martin likewise.
The
door of the castle stood open, and they entered a great hall, and looked about
them. Not a creature was to be seen, and suddenly Martin--he did not know
why--felt a little frightened. He would have left the castle at once, but
stopped when Jack boldly walked up to a door in the wall and opened it. He
could not for very shame be outdone by his younger brother, and passed behind
him into another splendid hall, which was filled from floor to ceiling with
great pieces of copper money.
The
sight quite dazzled Martin and Michael, who emptied all the provisions that
remained out of their bags, and heaped them up instead with handfuls of copper.
Scarcely
had they done this when Jack threw open another door, and this time it led to a
hall filled with silver. In an instant his brothers had turned their bags
upside down, so that the copper money tumbled out on to the floor, and were
shovelling in handfuls of the silver instead. They had hardly finished, when
Jack opened yet a third door, and all three fell back in amazement, for this
room as a mass of gold, so bright that their eyes grew sore as they looked at
it. However, they soon recovered from their surprise, and quickly emptied their
bags of silver, and filled them with gold instead. When they would hold no
more, Martin said:
'We
had better hurry off now lest somebody else should come, and we might not know
what to do'; and, followed by Michael, he hastily left the castle. Jack
lingered behind for a few minutes to put pieces of gold, silver, and copper
into his pocket, and to eat the food that his brothers had thrown down in the
first room. Then he went after them, and found them lying down to rest in the
midst of a forest. It was near sunset, and Martin began to feel hungry, so,
when Jack arrived, he bade him return to the castle and bring the bread and
cheese that they had left there.
'It
is hardly worth doing that,' answered Jack; 'for I picked up the pieces and ate
them myself.'
At
this reply both brothers were beside themselves with anger, and fell upon the
boy, beating him, and calling him names, till they were quite tired.
'Go
where you like,' cried Martin with a final kick; 'but never come near us
again.' And poor Jack ran weeping into the woods.
The
next morning his brothers went home, and bought a beautiful house, where they
lived with their mother like great lords.
Jack
remained for some hours in hiding, thankful to be safe from his tormentors; but
when no one came to trouble him, and his back did not ache so much, he began to
think what he had better do. At length he made up his mind to go to the caste
and take away as much money with him as would enable him to live in comfort for
the rest of his life. This being decided, he sprang up, and set out along the
path which led to the castle. As before, the door stood open, and he went on
till he had reached the hall of gold, and there he took off his jacket and tied
the sleeves together so that it might make a kind of bag. He then began to pour
in the gold by handfuls, when, all at once, a noise like thunder shook the
castle. This was followed by a voice, hoarse as that of a bull, which cried:
'I
smell the smell of a man.' And two giants entered.
'So,
little worm! it is you who steal our treasures!' exclaimed the biggest. 'Well,
we have got you now, and we will cook you for supper!' But here the other giant
drew him aside, and for a moment or two they whispered together. At length the
first giant spoke:
'To
please my friend I will spare your life on condition that, for the future, you
shall guard our treasures. If you are hungry take this little table and rap on
it, saying, as you do so: "The dinner of an emperor!" and you will
get as much food as you want.'
With
a light heart Jack promised all that was asked of him, and for some days
enjoyed himself mightily. He had everything he could wish for, and did nothing
from morning till night; but by-and-by he began to get very tired of it all.
'Let
the giants guard their treasures themselves,' he said to himself at last; 'I am
going away. But I will leave all the gold and silver behind me, and will take
nought but you, my good little table.'
So,
tucking the table under his arm, he started off for the forest, but he did not
linger there long, and soon found himself in the fields on the other side.
There he saw an old man, who begged Jack to give him something to eat.
'You
could not have asked a better person,' answered Jack cheerfully. And signing to
him to sit down with him under a tree, he set the table in front of them, and
struck it three times, crying:
'The
dinner of an emperor!' He had hardly uttered the words when fish and meat of
all kinds appeared on it!
'That
is a clever trick of yours,' said the old man, when he had eaten as much as he
wanted. 'Give it to me in exchange for a treasure I have which is still better.
Do you see this cornet? Well, you have only to tell it that you wish for an
army, and you will have as many soldiers as you require.'
Now,
since he had been left to himself, Jack had grown ambitious, so, after a
moment's hesitation, he took the cornet and gave the table in exchange. The old
man bade him farewell, and set off down one path, while Jack chose another, and
for a long time he was quite pleased with his new possession. Then, as he felt
hungry, he wished for his table back again, as no house was in sight, and he
wanted some supper badly. All at once he remembered his cornet, and a wicked
thought entered his mind.
'Two
hundred hussars, forward!' cried he. And the neighing of horses and the
clanking of swords were heard close at hand. The officer who rode at their head
approached Jack, and politely inquired what he wished them to do.
'A
mile or two along that road,' answered Jack, 'you will find an old man carrying
a table. Take the table from him and bring it to me.'
The
officer saluted and went back to his men, who started at a gallop to do Jack's
bidding.
In
ten minutes they had returned, bearing the table with them.
'That
is all, thank you,' said Jack; and the soldiers disappeared inside the cornet.
Oh,
what a good supper Jack had that night, quite forgetting that he owed it to a
mean trick. The next day he breakfasted early, and then walked on towards the
nearest town. On the way thither he met another old man, who begged for
something to eat.
'Certainly,
you shall have something to eat,' replied Jack. And, placing the table on the
ground he cried:
'The
dinner of an emperor!' when all sorts of food dishes appeared. At first the old
man ate quite greedily, and said nothing; but, after his hunger was satisfied,
he turned to Jack and said:
'That
is a very clever trick of yours. Give the table to me and you shall have
something still better.'
'I
don't believe that there is anything better,' answered Jack.
'Yes,
there is. Here is my bag; it will give you as many castles as you can possibly
want.'
Jack
thought for a moment; then he replied: 'Very well, I will exchange with you.'
And passing the table to the old man, he hung the bag over his arm.
Five
minutes later he summoned five hundred lancers out of the cornet and bade them
go after the old man and fetch back the table.
Now
that by his cunning he had obtained possession of the three magic objects, he
resolved to return to his native place. Smearing his face with dirt, and
tearing his clothes so as to look like a beggar, he stopped the passers by and,
on pretence of seeking money or food, he questioned them about the village
gossip. In this manner he learned that his brothers had become great men, much
respected in all the country round. When he heard that, he lost no time in
going to the door of their fine house and imploring them to give him food and
shelter; but the only thing he got was hard words, and a command to beg
elsewhere. At length, however, at their mother's entreaty, he was told that he
might pass the night in the stable. Here he waited until everybody in the house
was sound asleep, when he drew his bag from under his cloak, and desired that a
castle might appear in that place; and the cornet gave him soldiers to guard
the castle, while the table furnished him with a good supper. In the morning,
he caused it all to vanish, and when his brothers entered the stable they found
him lying on the straw.
Jack
remained here for many days, doing nothing, and--as far as anybody knew--eating
nothing. This conduct puzzled his brothers greatly, and they put such constant
questions to him, that at length he told them the secret of the table, and even
gave a dinner to them, which far outdid any they had ever seen or heard of. But
though they had solemnly promised to reveal nothing, somehow or other the tale
leaked out, and before long reached the ears of the king himself. That very evening
his chamberlain arrived at Jack's dwelling, with a request from the king that
he might borrow the table for three days.
'Very
well,' answered Jack, 'you can take it back with you. But tell his majesty that
if he does not return it at the end of the three days I will make war upon
him.'
So
the chamberlain carried away the table and took it straight to the king,
telling him at the same time of Jack's threat, at which they both laughed till
their sides ached.
Now
the king was so delighted with the table, and the dinners it gave him, that
when the three days were over he could not make up his mind to part with it.
Instead, he sent for his carpenter, and bade him copy it exactly, and when it
was done he told his chamberlain to return it to Jack with his best thanks. It
happened to be dinner time, and Jack invited the chamberlain, who knew nothing
of the trick, to stay and dine with him. The good man, who had eaten several
excellent meals provided by the table in the last three days, accepted the invitation
with pleasure, even though he was to dine in a stable, and sat down on the
straw beside Jack.
'The
dinner of an emperor!' cried Jack. But not even a morsel of cheese made its
appearance.
'The
dinner of an emperor!' shouted Jack in a voice of thunder. Then the truth
dawned on him; and, crushing the table between his hands, he turned to the
chamberlain, who, bewildered and half-frightened, was wondering how to get
away.
'Tell
your false king that to-morrow I will destroy his castle as easily as I have
broken this table.'
The
chamberlain hastened back to the palace, and gave the king Jack's message, at
which he laughed more than before, and called all his courtiers to hear the
story. But they were not quite so merry when they woke next morning and beheld
ten thousand horsemen, and as many archers, surrounding the palace. The king
saw it was useless to hold out, and he took the white flag of truce in one
hand, and the real table in the other, and set out to look for Jack.
'I
committed a crime,' said he; 'but I will do my best to make up for it. Here is
your table, which I own with shame that I tried to steal, and you shall have
besides, my daughter as your wife!'
There
was no need to delay the marriage when the table was able to furnish the most
splendid banquet that ever was seen, and after everyone had eaten and drunk as
much as they wanted, Jack took his bag and commanded a castle filled with all
sorts of treasures to arise in the park for himself and his bride.
At
this proof of his power the king's heart died within him.
'Your
magic is greater than mine,' he said; 'and you are young and strong, while I am
old and tired. Take, therefore, the sceptre from my hand, and my crown from my
head, and rule my people better than I have done.'
So
at last Jack's ambition was satisfied. He could not hope to be more than king,
and as long as he had his cornet to provide him with soldiers he was secure
against his enemies. He never forgave his brothers for the way they had treated
him, though he presented his mother with a beautiful castle, and everything she
could possibly wish for. In the centre of his own palace was a treasure
chamber, and in this chamber the table, the cornet, and the bag were kept as
the most prized of all his possessions, and not a week passed without a visit
from king John to make sure they were safe. He reigned long and well, and died
a very old man, beloved by his people. But his good example was not followed by
his sons and his grandsons. They grew so proud that they were ashamed to think
that the founder of their race had once been a poor boy; and as they and all
the world could not fail to remember it, as long as the table, the cornet, and
the bag were shown in the treasure chamber, one king, more foolish than the
rest, thrust them into a dark and damp cellar.
For
some time the kingdom remained, though it became weaker and weaker every year
that passed. Then, one day, a rumour reached the king that a large army was
marching against him. Vaguely he recollected some tales he had heard about a
magic cornet which could provide as many soldiers as would serve to conquer the
earth, and which had been removed by his grandfather to a cellar. Thither he
hastened that he might renew his power once more, and in that black and slimy
spot he found the treasures indeed. But the table fell to pieces as he touched
it, in the cornet there remained only a few fragments of leathern belts which
the rats had gnawed, and in the bag nothing but broken bits of stone.
And
the king bowed his head to the doom that awaited him, and in his heart cursed
the ruin wrought by the pride and foolishness of himself and his forefathers.
[From
Contes Populaires Slaves, par Louis Leger.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f20]
The
Rover of the Plain
A
long way off, near the sea coast of the east of Africa, there dwelt, once upon
a time, a man and his wife. They had two children, a son and a daughter, whom
they loved very much, and, like parents in other countries, they often talked
of the fine marriages the young people would make some day. Out there both boys
and girls marry early, and very soon, it seemed to the mother, a message was
sent by a rich man on the other side of the great hills offering a fat herd of
oxen in exchange for the girl. Everyone in the house and in the village
rejoiced, and the maiden was despatched to her new home. When all was quiet
again the father said to his son:
'Now
that we own such a splendid troop of oxen you had better hasten and get
yourself a wife, lest some illness should overtake them. Already we have seen
in the villages round about one or two damsels whose parents would gladly part
with them for less than half the herd. Therefore tell us which you like best,
and we will buy her for you.'
But
the son answered:
'Not
so; the maidens I have seen do not please me. If, indeed, I must marry, let me
travel and find a wife for myself.'
'It
shall be as you wish,' said the parents; 'but if by-and-by trouble should come
of it, it will be your fault and not ours.'
The
youth, however, would not listen; and bidding his father and mother farewell,
set out on his search. Far, far away he wandered, over mountains and across
rivers, till he reached a village where the people were quite different from
those of his own race. He glanced about him and noticed that the girls were
fair to look upon, as they pounded maize or stewed something that smelt very
nice in earthen pots--especially if you were hot and tired; and when one of the
maidens turned round and offered the stranger some dinner, he made up his mind
that he would wed her and nobody else.
So
he sent a message to her parents asking their leave to take her for his wife,
and they came next day to bring their answer.
'We
will give you our daughter,' said they, 'if you can pay a good price for her.
Never was there so hardworking a girl; and how we shall do without her we
cannot tell! Still-- no doubt your father and mother will come themselves and
bring the price?'
'No;
I have the price with me,' replied the young man; laying down a handful of gold
pieces. 'Here it is--take it.'
The
old couple's eyes glittered greedily; but custom forbade them to touch the
price before all was arranged.
'At
least,' said they, after a moment's pause, 'we may expect them to fetch your
wife to her new home?'
'No;
they are not used to travelling,' answered the bridegroom. 'Let the ceremony be
performed without delay, and we will set forth at once. It is a long journey.'
Then
the parents called in the girl, who was lying in the sun outside the hut, and,
in the presence of all the village, a goat was killed, the sacred dance took
place, and a blessing was said over the heads of the young people. After that
the bride was led aside by her father, whose duty it was to bestow on her some
parting advice as to her conduct in her married life.
'Be
good to your husband's parents,' added he, 'and always do the will of your
husband.' And the girl nodded her head obediently. Next it was the mother's
turn; and, as was the custom of the tribe, she spoke to her daughter:
'Will
you choose which of your sisters shall go with you to cut your wood and carry
your water?'
'I
do not want any of them,' answered she; 'they are no use. They will drop the
wood and spill the water.'
'Then
will you have any of the other children? There are enough to spare,' asked the
mother again. But the bride said quickly:
'I
will have none of them! You must give me our buffalo, the Rover of the Plain;
he alone shall serve me.'
'What
folly you talk!' cried the parents. 'Give you our buffalo, the Rover of the
Plain? Why, you know that our life depends on him. Here he is well fed and lies
on soft grass; but how can you tell what will befall him in another country? The
food may be bad, he will die of hunger; and, if he dies we die also.'
'No,
no,' said the bride; 'I can look after him as well as you. Get him ready, for
the sun is sinking and it is time we set forth.'
So
she went away and put together a small pot filled with healing herms, a horn
that she used in tending sick people, a little knife, and a calabash containing
deer fat; and, hiding these about her, she took leave of her father and mother
and started across the mountains by the side of her husband.
But
the young man did not see the buffalo that followed them, which had left his
home to be the servant of his wife.
No
one ever knew how the news spread to the kraal that the young man was coming
back, bringing a wife with him; but, somehow or other, when the two entered the
village, every man and woman was standing in the road uttering shouts of
welcome.
'Ah,
you are not dead after all,' cried they; 'and have found a wife to your liking,
though you would have none of our girls. Well, well, you have chosen your own
path; and if ill comes of it beware lest you grumble.'
Next
day the husband took his wife to the fields and showed her which were his, and
which belonged to his mother. The girl listened carefully to all he told her,
and walked with him back to the hut; but close to the door she stopped, and
said:
'I
have dropped my necklace of beads in the field, and I must go and look for it.'
But in truth she had done nothing of the sort, and it was only an excuse to go
and seek the buffalo.
The
beast was crouching under a tree when she came up, and snorted with pleasure at
the sight of her.
'You
can roam about this field, and this, and this,' she said, 'for they belong to
my husband; and that is his wood, where you may hide yourself. But the other
fields are his mother's, so beware lest you touch them.'
'I
will beware,' answered the buffalo; and, patting his head, the girl left him.
Oh,
how much better a servant he was than any of the little girls the bride had
refused to bring with her! If she wanted water, she had only to cross the patch
of maize behind the hut and seek out the place where the buffalo lay hidden,
and put down her pail beside him. Then she would sit at her ease while he went
to the lake and brought the bucket back brimming over. If she wanted wood, he
would break the branches off the trees and lay them at her feet. And the
villagers watched her return laden, and said to each other:
'Surely
the girls of her country are stronger than our girls, for none of them could
cut so quickly or carry so much!' But then, nobody knew that she had a buffalo
for a servant.
Only,
all this time she never gave the poor buffalo anything to eat, because she had
just one dish, out of which she and her husband ate; while in her old home there
was a dish put aside expressly for the Rover of the Plain. The buffalo bore it
as long as he could; but, one day, when his mistress bade him go to the lake
and fetch water, his knees almost gave way from hunger. He kept silence,
however, till the evening, when he said to his mistress:
'I
am nearly starved; I have not touched food since I came here. I can work no
more.'
'Alas!'
answered she, 'what can I do? I have only one dish in the house. You will have
to steal some beans from the fields. Take a few here and a few there; but be
sure not to take too many from one place, or the owner may notice it.'
Now
the buffalo had always lived an honest life, but if his mistress did not feed
him, he must get food for himself. So that night, when all the village was
asleep, he came out from the wood and ate a few beans here and a few there, as
his mistress had bidden him. And when at last his hunger was satisfied, he
crept back to his lair. But a buffalo is not a fairy, and the next morning,
when the women arrived to work in the fields, they stood still with
astonishment, and said to each other:
'Just
look at this; a savage beast has been destroying our crops, and we can see the
traces of his feet!' And they hurried to their homes to tell their tale.
In
the evening the girl crept out to the buffalo's hiding-place, and said to him:
'They
perceived what happened, of course; so to-night you had better seek your supper
further off.' And the buffalo nodded his head and followed her counsel; but in
the morning, when these women also went out to work, the races of hoofs were
plainly to be seen, and they hastened to tell their husbands, and begged them
to bring their guns, and to watch for the robber.
It
happened that the stranger girl's husband was the best marksman in all the
village, and he hid himself behind the trunk of a tree and waited.
The
buffalo, thinking that they would probably make a search for him in the fields
he had laid waste the evening before, returned to the bean patch belonging to
his mistress.
The
young man saw him coming with amazement.
'Why,
it is a buffalo!' cried he; 'I never have beheld one in this country before!'
And raising his gun, he aimed just behind the ear.
The
buffalo gave a leap into the air, and then fell dead.
'It
was a good shot,' said the young man. And he ran to the village to tell them
that the thief was punished.
When
he entered his hut he found his wife, who had somehow heard the news, twisting
herself to and fro and shedding tears.
'Are
you ill?' asked he. And she answered: 'Yes; I have pains all over my body.' But
she was not ill at all, only very unhappy at the death of the buffalo which had
served her so well. Her husband felt anxious, and sent for the medicine man;
but though she pretended to listen to him, she threw all his medicine out of
the door directly he had gone away.
With
the first rays of light the whole village was awake, and the women set forth
armed with baskets and the men with knives in order to cut up the buffalo. Only
the girl remained in her hut; and after a while she too went to join them,
groaning and weeping as she walked along.
'What
are you doing here?' asked her husband when he saw her. 'If you are ill you are
better at home.'
'Oh!
I could not stay alone in the village,' said she. And her mother-in-law left
off her work to come and scold her, and to tell her that she would kill herself
if she did such foolish things. But the girl would not listen and sat down and
looked on.
When
they had divided the buffalo's flesh, and each woman had the family portion in
her basket, the stranger wife got up and said:
'Let
me have the head.'
'You
could never carry anything so heavy,' answered the men, 'and now you are ill
besides.'
'You
do not know how strong I am,' answered she. And at last they gave it her.
She
did not walk to the village with the others, but lingered behind, and, instead
of entering her hut, she slipped into the little shed where the pots for
cooking and storing maize were kept. Then she laid down the buffalo's head and
sat beside it. Her husband came to seek her, and begged her to leave the shed
and go to bed, as she must be tired out; but the girl would not stir, neither
would she attend to the words of her mother-in-law.
'I
wish you would leave me alone!' she answered crossly. 'It is impossible to
sleep if somebody is always coming in.' And she turned her back on them, and
would not even eat the food they had brought. So they went away, and the young
man soon stretched himself out on his mat; but his wife's odd conduct made him
anxious, and he lay wake all night, listening.
When
all was still the girl made a fire and boiled some water in a pot. As soon as
it was quite hot she shook in the medicine that she had brought from home, and
then, taking the buffalo's head, she made incisions with her little knife
behind the ear, and close to the temple where the shot had struck him. Next she
applied the horn to the spot and blew with all her force till, at length, the
blood began to move. After that she spread some of the deer fat out of the
calabash over the wound, which she held in the steam of the hot water. Last of
all, she sang in a low voice a dirge over the Rover of the Plain.
As
she chanted the final words the head moved, and the limbs came back. The
buffalo began to feel alive again and shook his horns, and stood up and
stretched himself. Unluckily it was just at this moment that the husband said
to himself:
'I
wonder if she is crying still, and what is the matter with her! Perhaps I had
better go and see.' And he got up and, calling her by name, went out to the
shed.
'Go
away! I don't want you!' she cried angrily. But it was too late. The buffalo
had fallen to the ground, dead, and with the wound in his head as before.
The
young man who, unlike most of his tribe, was afraid of his wife, returned to
his bed without having seen anything, but wondering very much what she could be
doing all this time. After waiting a few minutes, she began her task over
again, and at the end the buffalo stood on his feet as before. But just as the
girl was rejoicing that her work was completed, in came the husband once more
to see what his wife was doing; and this time he sat himself down in the hut,
and said that he wished to watch whatever was going on. Then the girl took up
the pitcher and all her other things and left the shed, trying for the third
time to bring the buffalo back to life.
She
was too late; the dawn was already breaking, and the head fell to the ground,
dead and corrupt as it was before.
The
girl entered the hut, where her husband and his mother were getting ready to go
out.
'I
want to go down to the lake, and bathe,' said she.
'But
you could never walk so far,' answered they. 'You are so tired, as it is, that
you can hardly stand!'
However,
in spite of their warnings, the girl left the hut in the direction of the lake.
Very soon she came back weeping, and sobbed out:
'I
met some one in the village who lives in my country, and he told me that my
mother is very, very ill, and if I do not go to her at once she will be dead
before I arrive. I will return as soon as I can, and now farewell.' And she set
forth in the direction of the mountains. But this story was not true; she knew
nothing about her mother, only she wanted an excuse to go home and tell her
family that their prophecies had come true, and that the buffalo was dead.
Balancing
her basket on her head, she walked along, and directly she had left the village
behind her she broke out into the song of the Rover of the Plain, and at last,
at the end of the day, she came to the group of huts where her parents lived.
Her friends all ran to meet her, and, weeping, she told them that the buffalo
was dead.
This
sad news spread like lightning through the country, and the people flocked from
far and near to bewail the loss of the beast who had been their pride.
'If
you had only listened to us,' they cried, 'he would be alive now. But you
refused all the little girls we offered you, and would have nothing but the
buffalo. And remember what the medicine-man said: "If the buffalo dies you
die also!"'
So
they bewailed their fate, one to the other, and for a while they did not
perceive that the girl's husband was sitting in their midst, leaning his gun
against a tree. Then one man, turning, beheld him, and bowed mockingly.
'Hail,
murderer! hail! you have slain us all!'
The
young man stared, not knowing what he meant, and answered, wonderingly:
'I
shot a buffalo; is that why you call me a murderer?'
'A
buffalo--yes; but the servant of your wife! It was he who carried the wood and
drew the water. Did you not know it?'
'No;
I did not know it,' replied the husband in surprise. 'Why did no one tell me?
Of course I should not have shot him!'
'Well,
he is dead,' answered they, 'and we must die too.'
At
this the girl took a cup in which some poisonous herbs had been crushed, and
holding it in her hands, she wailed: 'O my father, Rover of the Plain!' Then
drinking a deep draught from it, fell back dead. One by one her parents, her
brothers and her sisters, drank also and died, singing a dirge to the memory of
the buffalo.
The
girl's husband looked on with horror; and returned sadly home across the
mountains, and, entering his hut, threw himself on the ground. At first he was
too tired to speak; but at length he raised his head and told all the story to
his father and mother, who sat watching him. When he had finished they shook
their heads and said:
'Now
you see that we spoke no idle words when we told you that ill would come of
your marriage! We offered you a good and hard-working wife, and you would have
none of her. And it is not only your wife you have lost, but your fortune also.
For who will give you back your money if they are all dead?'
'It
is true, O my father,' answered the young man. But in his heart he thought more
of the loss of his wife than of the money he had given for her.
[From
L'Etude Ethnographique sur les Baronga, par Henri Junod.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f21]
The
White Doe
Once
upon a time there lived a king and queen who loved each other dearly, and would
have been perfectly happy if they had only had a little son or daughter to play
with. They never talked about it, and always pretended that there was nothing
in the world to wish for; but, sometimes when they looked at other people's
children, their faces grew sad, and their courtiers and attendants knew the
reason why.
One
day the queen was sitting alone by the side of a waterfall which sprung from
some rocks in the large park adjoining the castle. She was feeling more than
usually miserable, and had sent away her ladies so that no one might witness
her grief. Suddenly she heard a rustling movement in the pool below the waterfall,
and, on glancing up, she saw a large crab climbing on to a stone beside her.
'Great
queen,' said the crab, 'I am here to tell you that the desire of your heart
will soon be granted. But first you must permit me to lead you to the palace of
the fairies, which, though hard by, has never been seen by mortal eyes because
of the thick clouds that surround it. When there you will know more; that is,
if you will trust yourself to me.'
The
queen had never before heard an animal speak, and was struck dumb with
surprise. However, she was so enchanted at the words of the crab that she
smiled sweetly and held out her hand; it was taken, not by the crab, which had
stood there only a moment before, but by a little old woman smartly dressed in
white and crimson with green ribbons in her grey hair. And, wonderful to say,
not a drop of water fell from her clothes.
The
old woman ran lightly down a path along which the queen had been a hundred
times before, but it seemed so different she could hardly believe it was the
same. Instead of having to push her way through nettles and brambles, roses and
jasmine hung about her head, while under her feet the ground was sweet with
violets. The orange trees were so tall and thick that, even at mid-day, the sun
was never too hot, and at the end of the path was a glimmer of something so
dazzling that the queen had to shade her eyes, and peep at it only between her
fingers.
'What
can it be?' she asked, turning to her guide; who answered:
'Oh,
that is the fairies' palace, and here are some of them coming to meet us.'
As
she spoke the gates swung back and six fairies approached, each bearing in her
hand a flower made of precious stones, but so like a real one that it was only
by touching you could tell the difference.
'Madam,'
they said, 'we know not how to thank you for this mark of your confidence, but
have the happiness to tell you that in a short time you will have a little
daughter.'
The
queen was so enchanted at this news that she nearly fainted with joy; but when
she was able to speak, she poured out all her gratitude to the fairies for
their promised gift.
'And
now,' she said, 'I ought not to stay any longer, for my husband will think that
I have run away, or that some evil beast has devoured me.'
In
a little while it happened just as the fairies had foretold, and a baby girl
was born in the palace. Of course both the king and queen were delighted, and
the child was called Desiree, which means 'desired,' for she had been 'desired'
for five years before her birth.
At
first the queen could think of nothing but her new plaything, but then she
remembered the fairies who had sent it to her. Bidding her ladies bring her the
posy of jewelled flowers which had been given her at the palace, she took each
flower in her hand and called it by name, and, in turn, each fairy appeared
before her. But, as unluckily often happens, the one to whom she owed the most,
the crab-fairy, was forgotten, and by this, as in the case of other babies you
have read about, much mischief was wrought.
However,
for the moment all was gaiety in the palace, and everybody inside ran to the
windows to watch the fairies' carriages, for no two were alike. One had a car
of ebony, drawn by white pigeons, another was lying back in her ivory chariot,
driving ten black crows, while the rest had chosen rare woods or many-coloured
sea-shells, with scarlet and blue macaws, long-tailed peacocks, or green
love-birds for horses. These carriages were only used on occasions of state,
for when they went to war flying dragons, fiery serpents, lions or leopards,
took the place of the beautiful birds.
The
fairies entered the queen's chamber followed by little dwarfs who carried their
presents and looked much prouder than their mistresses. One by one their burdens
were spread upon the ground, and no one had ever seen such lovely things.
Everything that a baby could possibly wear or play with was there, and besides,
they had other and more precious gifts to give her, which only children who
have fairies for godmothers can ever hope to possess.
They
were all gathered round the heap of pink cushions on which the baby lay asleep,
when a shadow seemed to fall between them and the sun, while a cold wind blew
through the room. Everybody looked up, and there was the crab-fairy, who had
grown as tall as the ceiling in her anger.
'So
I am forgotten!' cried she, in a voice so loud that the queen trembled as she
heard it. 'Who was it soothed you in your trouble? Who was it led you to the
fairies? Who was it brought you back in safety to your home again? Yet I--I--am
overlooked, while these who have done nothing in comparison, are petted and
thanked.'
The
queen, almost dumb with terror, in vain tried to think of some explanation or
apology; but there was none, and she could only confess her fault and implore
forgiveness. The fairies also did their best to soften the wrath of their
sister, and knowing that, like many plain people who are not fairies, she was
very vain, they entreated her to drop her crab's disguise, and to become once
more the charming person they were accustomed to see.
For
some time the enraged fairy would listen to nothing; but at length the
flatteries began to take effect. The crab's shell fell from her, she shrank
into her usual size, and lost some of her fierce expression.
'Well,'
she said, 'I will not cause the princess's death, as I had meant to do, but at
the same time she will have to bear the punishment of her mother's fault, as
many other children have done before her. The sentence I pass upon her is, that
if she is allowed to see one ray of daylight before her fifteenth birthday she
will rue it bitterly, and it may perhaps cost her her life.' And with these
words she vanished by the window through which she came, while the fairies comforted
the weeping queen and took counsel how best the princess might be kept safe
during her childhood.
At
the end of half an hour they had made up their minds what to do, and at the
command of the fairies, a beautiful palace sprang up, close to that of the king
and queen, but different from every palace in the world in having no windows,
and only a door right under the earth. However, once within, daylight was
hardly missed, so brilliant were the multitudes of tapers that were burning on
the walls.
Now
up to this time the princess's history has been like the history of many a
princess that you have read about; but, when the period of her imprisonment was
nearly over, her fortunes took another turn. For almost fifteen years the
fairies had taken care of her, and amused her and taught her, so that when she
came into the world she might be no whit behind the daughters of other kings in
all that makes a princess charming and accomplished. They all loved her dearly,
but the fairy Tulip loved her most of all; and as the princess's fifteenth
birthday drew near, the fairy began to tremble lest something terrible should
happen--some accident which had not been foreseen. 'Do not let her out of your
sight,' said Tulip to the queen, 'and meanwhile, let her portrait be painted
and carried to the neighbouring Courts, as is the custom in order that the
kings may see how far her beauty exceeds that of every other princess, and that
they may demand her in marriage for their sons.'
And
so it was done; and as the fairy had prophesied, all the young princes fell in
love with the picture; but the last one to whom it was shown could think of
nothing else, and refused to let it be removed from his chamber, where he spent
whole days gazing at it.
The
king his father was much surprised at the change which had come over his son,
who generally passed all his time in hunting or hawking, and his anxiety was
increased by a conversation he overheard between two of his courtiers that they
feared the prince must be going out of his mind, so moody had he become.
Without losing a moment the king went to visit his son, and no sooner had he
entered the room than the young man flung himself at his father's feet. 'You
have betrothed me already to a bride I can never love!' cried he; 'but if you
will not consent to break off the match, and ask for the hand of the princess
Desiree, I shall die of misery, thankful to be alive no longer.'
These
words much displeased the king, who felt that, in breaking off the marriage
already arranged he would almost certainly be bringing on his subjects a long
and bloody war; so, without answering, he turned away, hoping that a few days
might bring his son to reason. But the prince's condition grew rapidly so much
worse that the king, in despair, promised to send an embassy at once to
Desiree's father.
This
news cured the young man in an instant of all his ills; and he began to plan
out every detail of dress and of horses and carriages which were necessary to
make the train of the envoy, whose name was Becasigue, as splendid as possible.
He longed to form part of the embassy himself, if only in the disguise of a
page; but this the king would not allow, and so the prince had to content
himself with searching the kingdom for everything that was rare and beautiful
to send to the princess. Indeed, he arrived, just as the embassy was starting,
with his portrait, which had been painted in secret by the court painter.
The
king and queen wished for nothing better than that their daughter marry into
such a great and powerful family, and received the ambassador with every sign
of welcome. They even wished him to see the princess Desiree, but this was
prevented by the fairy Tulip, who feared some ill might come of it.
'And
be sure you tell him,' added she, 'that the marriage cannot be celebrated till
she is fifteen years old, or else some terrible misfortune will happen to the
child.'
So
when Becasigue, surround by his train, made a formal request that the princess
Desiree might be given in marriage to his master's son, the king replied that
he was much honoured, and would gladly give his consent; but that no one could
even see the princess till her fifteenth birthday, as the spell laid upon her
in her cradle by a spiteful fairy, would not cease to work till that was past.
The ambassador was greatly surprised and disappointed, but he knew too much
about fairies to venture to disobey them, therefore he had to content himself
with presenting the prince's portrait to the queen, who lost no time in
carrying it to the princess. As the girl took it in her hands it suddenly
spoke, as it had been taught to do, and uttered a compliment of the most
delicate and charming sort, which made the princess flush with pleasure.
'How
would you like to have a husband like that?' asked the queen, laughing.
'As
if I knew anything about husbands!' replied Desiree, who had long ago guessed
the business of the ambassador.
'Well,
he will be your husband in three months,' answered the queen, ordering the
prince's presents to be brought in. The princess was very pleased with them,
and admired them greatly, but the queen noticed that all the while her eyes
constantly strayed from the softest silks and most brilliant jewels to the
portrait of the prince.
The
ambassador, finding that there was no hope of his being allowed to see the
princess, took his leave, and returned to his own court; but here a new
difficulty appeared. The prince, though transported with joy at the thought
that Desiree was indeed to be his bride, was bitterly disappointed that she had
not been allowed to return with Becasigue, as he had foolishly expected; and
never having been taught to deny himself anything or to control his feelings,
he fell as ill as he had done before. He would eat nothing nor take pleasure in
anything, but lay all day on a heap of cushions, gazing at the picture of the
princess.
'If
I have to wait three months before I can marry the princess I shall die!' was
all this spoilt boy would say; and at length the king, in despair, resolved to
send a fresh embassy to Desiree's father to implore him to permit the marriage
to be celebrated at once. 'I would have presented my prayer in person, he added
in his letter, 'but my great age and infirmities do not suffer me to travel;
however my envoy has orders to agree to any arrangement that you may propose.'
On
his arrival at the palace Becasigue pleaded his young master's cause as
fervently as the king his father could have done, and entreated that the
princess might be consulted in the matter. The queen hastened to the marble
tower, and told her daughter of the sad state of the prince. Desiree sank down
fainting at the news, but soon came to herself again, and set about inventing a
plan which would enable her to go to the prince without risking the doom
pronounced over her by the wicked fairy.
'I
see!' she exclaimed joyfully at last. 'Let a carriage be built through which no
light can come, and let it be brought into my room. I will then get into it,
and we can travel swiftly during the night and arrive before dawn at the palace
of the prince. Once there, I can remain in some underground chamber, where no
light can come.'
'Ah,
how clever you are,' cried the queen, clasping her in her arms. And she hurried
away to tell the king.
'What
a wife our prince will have!' said Becasigue bowing low; 'but I must hasten
back with the tidings, and to prepare the underground chamber for the
princess.' And so he took his leave.
In
a few days the carriage commanded by the princess was ready. It was of green velvet,
scattered over with large golden thistles, and lined inside with silver brocade
embroidered with pink roses. It had no windows, of course; but the fairy Tulip,
whose counsel had been asked, had managed to light it up with a soft glow that
came no one knew whither.
It
was carried straight up into the great hall of the tower, and the princess
stepped into it, followed by her faithful maid of honour, Eglantine, and by her
lady in waiting Cerisette, who also had fallen in love with the prince's portrait
and was bitterly jealous of her mistress. The fourth place in the carriage was
filled by Cerisette's mother, who had been sent by the queen to look after the
three young people.
Now
the Fairy of the Fountain was the godmother of the princess Nera, to whom the
prince had been betrothed before the picture of Desiree had made him faithless.
She was very angry at the slight put upon her godchild, and from that moment
kept careful watch on the princess. In this journey she saw her chance, and it
was she who, invisible, sat by Cerisette, and put bad thoughts into the minds
of both her and her mother.
The
way to the city where the prince lived ran for the most part through a thick
forest, and every night when there was no moon, and not a single star could be
seen through the trees, the guards who travelled with the princess opened the
carriage to give it an airing. This went on for several days, till only twelve
hours journey lay between them and the palace. The Cerisette persuaded her
mother to cut a great hole in the side of the carriage with a sharp knife which
she herself had brought for the purpose. In the forest the darkness was so
intense that no one perceived what she had done, but when they left the last
trees behind them, and emerged into the open country, the sun was up, and for
the first time since her babyhood, Desiree found herself in the light of day.
She
looked up in surprise at the dazzling brilliance that streamed through the
hole; then gave a sigh which seemed to come from her heart. The carriage door
swung back, as if by magic, and a white doe sprang out, and in a moment was
lost to sight in the forest. But, quick as she was, Eglantine, her maid of
honour, had time to see where she went, and jumped from the carriage in pursuit
of her, followed at a distance by the guards.
Cerisette
and her mother looked at each other in surprise and joy. They could hardly
believe in their good fortune, for everything had happened exactly as they
wished. The first thing to be done was to conceal the hole which had been cut,
and when this was managed (with the help of the angry fairy, though they did
not know it), Cerisette hastened to take off her own clothes, and put on those
of the princess, placing the crown of diamonds on her head. She found this heavier
than she expected; but then, she had never been accustomed to wear crowns,
which makes all the difference.
At
the gates of the city the carriage was stopped by a guard of honour sent by the
king as an escort to his son's bride. Though Cerisette and her mother could of
course see nothing of what was going on outside, they heard plainly the shouts
of welcome from the crowds along the streets.
The
carriage stopped at length in the vast hall which Becasigue had prepared for
the reception of the princess. The grand chamberlain and the lord high steward
were awaiting her, and when the false bride stepped into the brilliantly
lighted room, they bowed low, and said they had orders to inform his highness
the moment she arrived. The prince, whom the strict etiquette of the court had
prevented from being present in the underground hall, was burning with
impatience in his own apartments.
'So
she had come!' cried he, throwing down the bow he had been pretending to mend.
'Well, was I not right? Is she not a miracle of beauty and grace? And has she
her equal in the whole world?' The ministers looked at each other, and made no
reply; till at length the chamberlain, who was the bolder of the two, observed:
'My
lord, as to her beauty, you can judge of that for yourself. No doubt it is as
great as you say; but at present it seems to have suffered, as is natural, from
the fatigues of the journey.'
This
was certainly not what the prince had expected to hear. Could the portrait have
flattered her? He had known of such things before, and a cold shiver ran
through him; but with an effort he kept silent from further questioning, and
only said:
'Has
the king been told that the princess is in the palace?'
'Yes,
highness; and he has probably already joined her.'
'Then
I will go too,' said the prince.
Weak
as he was from his long illness, the prince descended the staircase, supported
by the ministers, and entered the room just in time to hear his father's loud
cry of astonishment and disgust at the sight of Cerisette.
'There
was been treachery at work,' he exclaimed, while the prince leant, dumb with
horror, against the doorpost. But the lady in waiting, who had been prepared
for something of the sort, advanced, holding in her hand the letters which the
king and queen had entrusted to her.
'This
is the princess Desiree,' said she, pretending to have heard nothing, 'and I
have the honour to present to you these letters from my liege lord and lady,
together with the casket containing the princess' jewels.'
The
king did not move or answer her; so the prince, leaning on the arm of
Becasigue, approached a little closer to the false princess, hoping against
hope that his eyes had deceived him. But the longer he looked the more he
agreed with his father that there was treason somewhere, for in no single
respect did the portrait resemble the woman before him. Cerisette was so tall
that the dress of the princess did not reach her ankles, and so thin that her
bones showed through the stuff. Besides that her nose was hooked, and her teeth
black and ugly.
In
his turn, the prince stood rooted to the spot. At last he spoke, and his words
were addressed to his father, and not to the bride who had come so far to marry
him.
'We
have been deceived,' he said, 'and it will cost me my life.' And he leaned so
heavily on the envoy that Becasigue feared he was going to faint, and hastily
laid him on the floor. For some minutes no one could attend to anybody but the
prince; but as soon as he revived the lady in waiting made herself heard.
'Oh,
my lovely princess, why did we ever leave home?' cried she. 'But the king your
father will avenge the insults that have been heaped on you when we tell him
how you have been treated.'
'I
will tell him myself,' replied the king in wrath; 'he promised me a wonder of
beauty, he has sent me a skeleton! I am not surprised that he has kept her for
fifteen years hidden away from the eyes of the world. Take them both away,' he
continued, turning to his guards, 'and lodge them in the state prison. There is
something more I have to learn of this matter.'
His
orders were obeyed, and the prince, loudly bewailing his sad fate, was led back
to bed, where for many days he lay in a high fever. At length he slowly began
to gain strength, but his sorrow was still so great that he could not bear the
sight of a strange face, and shuddered at the notion of taking his proper part
in the court ceremonies. Unknown to the king, or to anybody but Becasigue, he
planned that, as soon as he was able, he would make his escape and pass the
rest of his life alone in some solitary place. It was some weeks before he had
regained his health sufficiently to carry out his design; but finally, one
beautiful starlight night, the two friends stole away, and when the king woke
next morning he found a letter lying by his bed, saying that his son had gone,
he knew not whither. He wept bitter tears at the news, for he loved the prince
dearly; but he felt that perhaps the young man had done wisely, and he trusted
to time and Becasigue's influence to bring the wanderer home.
And
while these things were happening, what had become of the white doe? Though
when she sprang from the carriage she was aware that some unkind fate had
changed her into an animal, yet, till she saw herself in a stream, she had no
idea what it was.
'Is
it really, I, Desiree?' she said to herself, weeping. 'What wicked fairy can
have treated me so; and shall I never, never take my own shape again? My only
comfort that, in this great forest, full of lions and serpents, my life will be
a short one.'
Now
the fairy Tulip was as much grieved at the sad fate of the princess as
Desiree's own mother could have been if she had known of it. Still, she could
not help feeling that if the king and queen had listened to her advice the girl
would by this time be safely in the walls of her new home. However, she loved
Desiree too much to let her suffer more than could be helped, and it was she
who guided Eglantine to the place where the white doe was standing, cropping
the grass which was her dinner.
At
the sound of footsteps the pretty creature lifted her head, and when she saw
her faithful companion approaching she bounded towards her, and rubbed her head
on Eglantine's shoulder. The maid of honour was surprised; but she was fond of
animals, and stroked the white doe tenderly, speaking gently to her all the
while. Suddenly the beautiful creature lifted her head, and looked up into
Eglantine's face, with tears streaming from her eyes. A thought flashed through
her mind, and quick as lightning the girl flung herself on her knees, and
lifting the animal's feet kissed them one by one. 'My princess! O my dear
princess!' cried she; and again the white doe rubbed her head against her, for
thought the spiteful fairy had taken away her power of speech, she had not
deprived her of her reason!
All
day long the two remained together, and when Eglantine grew hungry she was led
by the white doe to a part of the forest where pears and peaches grew in
abundance; but, as night came on, the maid of honour was filled with the
terrors of wild beasts which had beset the princess during her first night in
the forest.
'Is
there no hut or cave we could go into?' asked she. But the doe only shook her
head; and the two sat down and wept with fright.
The
fairy Tulip, who, in spite of her anger, was very soft-hearted, was touched at
their distress, and flew quickly to their help.
'I
cannot take away the spell altogether,' she said, 'for the Fairy of the
Fountain is stronger than I; but I can shorten the time of your punishment, and
am able to make it less hard, for as soon as darkness fall you shall resume
your own shape.'
To
think that by-and-by she would cease to be a white doe--indeed, that she would
at once cease to be one during the night--was for the present joy enough for
Desiree, and she skipped about on the grass in the prettiest manner.
'Go
straight down the path in front of you,' continued the fairy, smiling as she
watched her; 'go straight down the path and you will soon reach a little hut
where you will find shelter.' And with these words she vanished, leaving her
hearers happier than they ever thought they could be again.
An
old woman was standing at the door of the hut when Eglantine drew near, with
the white doe trotting by her side.
'Good
evening!' she said; 'could you give me a night's lodging for myself and my
doe?'
'Certainly
I can,' replied the old woman. And she led them into a room with two little
white beds, so clean and comfortable that it made you sleepy even to look at
them.
The
door had hardly closed behind the old woman when the sun sank below the
horizon, and Desiree became a girl again.
'Oh,
Eglantine! what should I have done if you had not followed me,' she cried. And
she flung herself into her friend's arms in a transport of delight.
Early
in the morning Eglantine was awakened by the sound of someone scratching at the
door, and on opening her eyes she saw the white doe struggling to get out. The
little creature looked up and into her face, and nodded her head as the maid of
honour unfastened the latch, but bounded away into the woods, and was lost to
sight in a moment.
Meanwhile,
the prince and Becasigue were wandering through the wood, till at last the
prince grew so tired, that he lay down under a tree, and told Becasigue that he
had better go in search of food, and of some place where they could sleep.
Becasigue had not gone very far, when a turn of the path brought him face to
face with the old woman who was feeding her doves before her cottage.
'Could
you give me some milk and fruit?' asked he. 'I am very hungry myself, and,
besides, I have left a friend behind me who is still weak from illness.'
'Certainly
I can,' answered the old woman. 'But come and sit down in my kitchen while I
catch the goat and milk it.'
Becasigue
was glad enough to do as he was bid, and in a few minutes the old woman
returned with a basket brimming over with oranges and grapes.
'If
your friend has been ill he should not pass the night in the forest,' said she.
'I have room in my hut--tiny enough, it is true; but better than nothing, and
to that you are both heartily welcome.'
Becasigue
thanked her warmly, and as by this time it was almost sunset, he set out to
fetch the prince. It was while he was absent that Eglantine and the white doe
entered the hut, and having, of course, no idea that in the very next room was
the man whose childish impatience had been the cause of all their troubles.
In
spite of his fatigue, the prince slept badly, and directly it was light he
rose, and bidding Becasigue remain where he was, as he wished to be alone, he
strolled out into the forest. He walked on slowly, just as his fancy led him,
till, suddenly, he came to a wide open space, and in the middle was the white
doe quietly eating her breakfast. She bounded off at the sight of a man, but
not before the prince, who had fastened on his bow without thinking, had let
fly several arrows, which the fairy Tulip took care should do her no harm. But,
quickly as she ran, she soon felt her strength failing her, for fifteen years
of life in a tower had not taught her how to exercise her limbs.
Luckily,
the prince was too weak to follow her far, and a turn of a path brought her
close to the hut, where Eglantine was awaiting her. Panting for breath, she
entered their room, and flung herself down on the floor.
When
it was dark again, and she was once more the princess Desiree, she told
Eglantine what had befallen her.
'I
feared the Fairy of the Fountain, and the cruel beasts,' said she; 'but somehow
I never thought of the dangers that I ran from men. I do not know now what
saved me.'
'You
must stay quietly here till the time of your punishment is over,' answered
Eglantine. But when the morning dawned, and the girl turned into a doe, the
longing for the forest came over her, and she sprang away as before.
As
soon as the prince was awake he hastened to the place where, only the day
before, he had found the white doe feeding; but of course she had taken care to
go in the opposite direction. Much disappointed, he tried first one green path
and then another, and at last, wearied with walking, he threw himself down and
went fast asleep.
Just
at this moment the white doe sprang out of a thicket near by, and started back
trembling when she beheld her enemy lying there. Yet, instead of turning to
fly, something bade her go and look at him unseen. As she gazed a thrill ran
through her, for she felt that, worn and wasted though he was by illness, it
was the face of her destined husband. Gently stooping over him she kissed his
forehead, and at her touch he awoke.
For
a minute they looked at each other, and to his amazement he recognized the
white doe which had escaped him the previous day. But in an instant the animal
was aroused to a sense of her danger, and she fled with all her strength into
the thickest part of the forest. Quick as lightning the prince was on her
track, but this time it was with no wish to kill or even wound the beautiful
creature.
'Pretty
doe! pretty doe! stop! I won't hurt you,' cried he, but his words were carried
away by the wind.
At
length the doe could run no more, and when the prince reached her, she was
lying stretched out on the grass, waiting for her death blow. But instead the
prince knelt at her side, and stroked her, and bade her fear nothing, as he
would take care of her. So he fetched a little water from the stream in his
horn hunting cup, then, cutting some branches from the trees, he twisted them
into a litter which he covered with moss, and laid the white doe gently on it.
For
a long time they remained thus, but when Desiree saw by the way that the light
struck the trees, that he sun must be near its setting, she was filled with
alarm lest the darkness should fall, and the prince should behold her in her
human shape.
'No,
he must not see me for the first time here,' she thought, and instantly began
to plan how to get rid of him. Then she opened her mouth and let her tongue
hang out, as if she were dying of thirst, and the prince, as she expected,
hastened to the stream to get her some more water.
When
he returned, the white doe was gone.
That
night Desiree confessed to Eglantine that her pursuer was no other than the
prince, and that far from flattering him, the portrait had never done him
justice.
'Is
it not hard to meet him in this shape,' wept she, 'when we both love each other
so much?' But Eglantine comforted her, and reminded her that in a short time
all would be well.
The
prince was very angry at the flight of the white doe, for whom he had taken so
much trouble, and returning to the cottage he poured out his adventures and his
wrath to Becasigue, who could not help smiling.
'She
shall not escape me again,' cried the prince. 'If I hunt her every day for a
year, I will have her at last.' And in this frame of mind he went to bed.
When
the white doe entered the forest next morning, she had not made up her mind
whether she would go and meet the prince, or whether she would shun him, and
hide in thickets of which he knew nothing. She decided that the last plan was
the best; and so it would have been if the prince had not taken the very same
direction in search of her.
Quite
by accident he caught sight of her white skin shining through the bushes, and
at the same instant she heard a twig snap under his feet. In a moment she was
up and away, but the prince, not knowing how else to capture her, aimed an
arrow at her leg, which brought her to the ground.
The
young man felt like a murderer as he ran hastily up to where the white doe lay,
and did his best to soothe the pain she felt, which, in reality, was the last
part of the punishment sent by the Fairy of the Fountain. First he brought her
some water, and then he fetched some healing herbs, and having crushed them in
his hand, laid them on the wound.
'Ah!
what a wretch I was to have hurt you,' cried he, resting her head upon his
knees; 'and now you will hate me and fly from me for ever!'
For
some time the doe lay quietly where she was, but, as before, she remembered
that the hour of her transformation was near. She struggled to her feet, but
the prince would not hear of her walking, and thinking the old woman might be
able to dress her wound better than he could, he took her in his arms to carry
her back to the hut. But, small as she was, she made herself so heavy that,
after staggering a few steps under her weight, he laid her down, and tied her
fast to a tree with some of the ribbons of his hat. This done he went away to
get help.
Meanwhile
Eglantine had grown very uneasy at the long absence of her mistress, and had
come out to look for her. Just as the prince passed out of sight the fluttering
ribbons dance before her eyes, and she descried her beautiful princess bound to
a tree. With all her might she worked at the knots, but not a single one could
she undo, though all appeared so easy. She was still busy with them when a
voice behind her said:
'Pardon
me, fair lady, but it is MY doe you are trying to steal!'
'Excuse
me, good knight' answered Eglantine, hardly glancing at him, 'but it is MY doe
that is tied up here! And if you wish for a proof of it, you can see if she
knows me or not. Touch my heart, my little one,' she continued, dropping on her
knees. And the doe lifted up its fore-foot and laid it on her side. 'Now put
your arms round my neck, and sigh.' And again the doe did as she was bid.
'You
are right,' said the prince; 'but it is with sorrow I give her up to you, for
though I have wounded her yet I love her deeply.'
To
this Eglantine answered nothing; but carefully raising up the doe, she led her
slowly to the hut.
Now
both the prince and Becasigue were quite unaware that the old woman had any
guests besides themselves, and, following afar, were much surprised to behold
Eglantine and her charge enter the cottage. They lost no time in questioning
the old woman, who replied that she knew nothing about the lady and her white
doe, who slept next the chamber occupied by the prince and his friend, but that
they were very quiet, and paid her well. Then she went back to her kitchen.
'Do
you know,' said Becasigue, when they were alone, 'I am certain that the lady we
saw is the maid of honour to the Princess Desiree, whom I met at the palace.
And, as her room is next to this, it will be easy to make a small hole through
which I can satisfy myself whether I am right or not.'
So,
taking a knife out of his pocket, he began to saw away the woodwork. The girls
heard the grating noise, but fancying it was a mouse, paid no attention, and
Becasigue was left in peace to pursue his work. At length the hole was large
enough for him to peep through, and the sight was one to strike him dumb with
amazement. He had guessed truly: the tall lady was Eglantine herself; but the
other--where had he seen her? Ah! now he knew--it was the lady of the portrait!
Desiree,
in a flowing dress of green silk, was lying stretched out upon cushions, and as
Eglantine bent over her to bathe the wounded leg, she began to talk:
'Oh!
let me die,' cried she, 'rather than go on leading this life. You cannot tell
the misery of being a beast all the day, and unable to speak to the man I love,
to whose impatience I owe my cruel fate. Yet, even so, I cannot bring myself to
hate him.'
These
words, low though they were spoken, reached Becasigue, who could hardly believe
his ears. He stood silent for a moment; then, crossing to the window out of
which the prince was gazing, he took his arm and led him across the room. A
single glance was sufficient to show the prince that it was indeed Desiree; and
how another had come to the palace bearing her name, at that instant he neither
knew nor cared. Stealing on tip-toe from the room, he knocked at the next door,
which was opened by Eglantine, who thought it was the old woman bearing their
supper.
She
started back at the sight of the prince, whom this time she also recognised.
But he thrust her aside, and flung himself at the feet of Desiree, to whom he
poured out all his heart!
Dawn
found them still conversing; and the sun was high in the heavens before the
princess perceived that she retained her human form. Ah! how happy she was when
she knew that the days of her punishment were over; and with a glad voice she
told the prince the tale of her enchantment.
So
the story ended well after all; and the fairy Tulip, who turned out to be the
old woman of the hut, made the young couple such a wedding feast as had never
been seen since the world began. And everybody was delighted, except Cerisette
and her mother, who were put in a boat and carried to a small island, where
they had to work hard for their living.
[Contes
des Fees, par Madame d'Aulnoy.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f22]
The
Girl-Fish
Once
upon a time there lived, on the bank of a stream, a man and a woman who had a
daughter. As she was an only child, and very pretty besides, they never could
make up their minds to punish her for her faults or to teach her nice manners;
and as for work-- she laughed in her mother's face if she asked her to help
cook the dinner or to wash the plates. All the girl would do was to spend her
days in dancing and playing with her friends; and for any use she was to her
parents they might as well have no daughter at all.
However,
one morning her mother looked so tired that even the selfish girl could not
help seeing it, and asked if there was anything she was able to do, so that her
mother might rest a little.
The
good woman looked so surprised and grateful for this offer that the girl felt
rather ashamed, and at that moment would have scrubbed down the house if she
had been requested; but her mother only begged her to take the fishing-net out
to the bank of the river and mend some holes in it, as her father intended to
go fishing that night.
The
girl took the net and worked so hard that soon there was not a hole to be
found. She felt quite pleased with herself, though she had had plenty to amuse
her, as everybody who passed by had stopped and had a chat with her. But by
this time the sun was high overhead, and she was just folding her net to carry
it home again, when she heard a splash behind her, and looking round she saw a
big fish jump into the air. Seizing the net with both hands, she flung it into
the water where the circles were spreading one behind the other, and, more by
luck than skill, drew out the fish.
'Well,
you are a beauty!' she cried to herself; but the fish looked up to her and
said:
'You
had better not kill me, for, if you do, I will turn you into a fish yourself!'
The
girl laughed contemptuously, and ran straight in to her mother.
'Look
what I have caught,' she said gaily; 'but it is almost a pity to eat it, for it
can talk, and it declares that, if I kill it, it will turn me into a fish too.'
'Oh,
put it back, put it back!' implored the mother. 'Perhaps it is skilled in
magic. And I should die, and so would your father, if anything should happen to
you.'
'Oh,
nonsense, mother; what power could a creature like that have over me? Besides,
I am hungry, and if I don't have my dinner soon, I shall be cross.' And off she
went to gather some flowers to stick in her hair.
About
an hour later the blowing of a horn told her that dinner was ready.
'Didn't
I say that fish would be delicious?' she cried; and plunging her spoon into the
dish the girl helped herself to a large piece. But the instant it touched her
mouth a cold shiver ran through her. Her head seemed to flatten, and her eyes
to look oddly round the corners; her legs and her arms were stuck to her sides,
and she gasped wildly for breath. With a mighty bound she sprang through the
window and fell into the river, where she soon felt better, and was able to
swim to the sea, which was close by.
No
sooner had she arrived there than the sight of her sad face attracted the
notice of some of the other fishes, and they pressed round her, begging her to
tell them her story.
'I
am not a fish at all,' said the new-comer, swallowing a great deal of salt
water as she spoke; for you cannot learn how to be a proper fish all in a
moment. 'I am not a fish at all, but a girl; at least I was a girl a few
minutes ago, only--' And she ducked her head under the waves so that they
should not see her crying.
'Only
you did not believe that the fish you caught had power to carry out its
threat,' said an old tunny. 'Well, never mind, that has happened to all of us,
and it really is not a bad life. Cheer up and come with us and see our queen,
who lives in a palace that is much more beautiful than any your queens can
boast of.'
The
new fish felt a little afraid of taking such a journey; but as she was still
more afraid of being left alone, she waved her tail in token of consent, and
off they all set, hundreds of them together. The people on the rocks and in the
ships that saw them pass said to each other:
'Look
what a splendid shoal!' and had no idea that they were hastening to the queen's
palace; but, then, dwellers on land have so little notion of what goes on in
the bottom of the sea! Certainly the little new fish had none. She had watched
jelly-fish and nautilus swimming a little way below the surface, and beautiful
coloured sea-weeds floating about; but that was all. Now, when she plunged
deeper her eyes fell upon strange things.
Wedges
of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones, unvalued jewels--
all scattered in the bottom of the sea! Dead men's bones were there also, and
long white creatures who had never seen the light, for they mostly dwelt in the
clefts of rocks where the sun's rays could not come. At first our little fish
felt as if she were blind also, but by-and-by she began to make out one object
after another in the green dimness, and by the time she had swum for a few
hours all became clear.
'Here
we are at last,' cried a big fish, going down into a deep valley, for the sea
has its mountains and valleys just as much as the land. 'That is the palace of
the queen of the fishes, and I think you must confess that the emperor himself
has nothing so fine.'
'It
is beautiful indeed,' gasped the little fish, who was very tired with trying to
swim as fast as the rest, and beautiful beyond words the palace was. The walls
were made of pale pink coral, worn smooth by the waters, and round the windows
were rows of pearls; the great doors were standing open, and the whole troop
floated into the chamber of audience, where the queen, who was half a woman
after all, was seated on a throne made of a green and blue shell.
'Who
are you, and where do you come from?' said she to the little fish, whom the
others had pushed in front. And in a low, trembling voice, the visitor told her
story.
'I
was once a girl too,' answered the queen, when the fish had ended; 'and my
father was the king of a great country. A husband was found for me, and on my
wedding-day my mother placed her crown on my head and told me that as long as I
wore it I should likewise be queen. For many months I was as happy as a girl
could be, especially when I had a little son to play with. But, one morning,
when I was walking in my gardens, there came a giant and snatched the crown
from my head. Holding me fast, he told me that he intended to give the crown to
his daughter, and to enchant my husband the prince, so that he should not know
the difference between us. Since then she has filled my place and been queen in
my stead. As for me, I was so miserable that I threw myself into the sea, and
my ladies, who loved me, declared that they would die too; but, instead of
dying, some wizard, who pitied my fate, turned us all into fishes, though he
allowed me to keep the face and body of a woman. And fished we must remain till
someone brings me back my crown again!'
'I
will bring it back if you tell me what to do!' cried the little fish, who would
have promised anything that was likely to carry her up to earth again. And the
queen answered:
'Yes,
I will tell you what to do.'
She
sat silent for a moment, and then went on:
'There
is no danger if you will only follow my counsel; and first you must return to
earth, and go up to the top of a high mountain, where the giant has built his
castle. You will find him sitting on the steps weeping for his daughter, who
has just died while the prince was away hunting. At the last she sent her
father my crown by a faithful servant. But I warn you to be careful, for if he
sees you he may kill you. Therefore I will give you the power to change
yourself into any creature that may help you best. You have only to strike your
forehead, and call out its name.'
This
time the journey to land seemed much shorter than before, and when once the
fish reached the shore she struck her forehead sharply with her tail, and
cried:
'Deer,
come to me!'
In
a moment the small, slimy body disappeared, and in its place stood a beautiful
beast with branching horns and slender legs, quivering with longing to be gone.
Throwing back her head and snuffing the air, she broke into a run, leaping
easily over the rivers and walls that stood in her way.
It
happened that the king's son had been hunting since daybreak, but had killed
nothing, and when the deer crossed his path as he was resting under a tree he
determined to have her. He flung himself on his horse, which went like the
wind, and as the prince had often hunted the forest before, and knew all the
short cuts, he at last came up with the panting beast.
'By
your favour let me go, and do not kill me,' said the deer, turning to the
prince with tears in her eyes, 'for I have far to run and much to do.' And as
the prince, struck dumb with surprise, only looked at her, the deer cleared the
next wall and was soon out of sight.
'That
can't really be a deer,' thought the prince to himself, reining in his horse
and not attempting to follow her. 'No deer ever had eyes like that. It must be
an enchanted maiden, and I will marry her and no other.' So, turning his
horse's head, he rode slowly back to his palace.
The
deer reached the giant's castle quite out of breath, and her heart sank as she
gazed at the tall, smooth walls which surrounded it. Then she plucked up
courage and cried:
'Ant,
come to me!' And in a moment the branching horns and beautiful shape had
vanished, and a tiny brown ant, invisible to all who did not look closely, was
climbing up the walls.
It
was wonderful how fast she went, that little creature! The wall must have
appeared miles high in comparison with her own body; yet, in less time than
would have seemed possible, she was over the top and down in the courtyard on
the other side. Here she paused to consider what had best be done next, and
looking about her she saw that one of the walls had a tall tree growing by it,
and in the corner was a window very nearly on a level with the highest branches
of the tree.
'Monkey,
come to me!' cried the ant; and before you could turn round a monkey was
swinging herself from the topmost branches into the room where the giant lay
snoring.
'Perhaps
he will be so frightened at the sight of me that he may die of fear, and I
shall never get the crown,' thought the monkey. 'I had better become something
else.' And she called softly: 'Parrot, come to me!'
Then
a pink and grey parrot hopped up to the giant, who by this time was stretching
himself and giving yawns which shook the castle. The parrot waited a little,
until he was really awake, and then she said boldly that she had been sent to
take away the crown, which was not his any longer, now his daughter the queen
was dead.
On
hearing these words the giant leapt out of bed with an angry roar, and sprang
at the parrot in order to wring her neck with his great hands. But the bird was
too quick for him, and, flying behind his back, begged the giant to have
patience, as her death would be of no use to him.
'That
is true,' answered the giant; 'but I am not so foolish as to give you that
crown for nothing. Let me think what I will have in exchange!' And he scratched
his huge head for several minutes, for giants' minds always move slowly.
'Ah,
yes, that will do!' exclaimed the giant at last, his face brightening. 'You
shall have the crown if you will bring me a collar of blue stones from the Arch
of St. Martin, in the Great City.'
Now
when the parrot had been a girl she had often heard of this wonderful arch and
the precious stones and marbles that had been let into it. It sounded as if it
would be a very hard thing to get them away from the building of which they
formed a part, but all had gone well with her so far, and at any rate she could
but try. So she bowed to the giant, and made her way back to the window where
the giant could not see her. Then she called quickly:
'Eagle,
come to me!'
Before
she had even reached the tree she felt herself borne up on strong wings ready
to carry her to the clouds if she wished to go there, and seeming a mere speck
in the sky, she was swept along till she beheld the Arch of St. Martin far
below, with the rays of the sun shining on it. Then she swooped down, and,
hiding herself behind a buttress so that she could not be detected from below,
she set herself to dig out the nearest blue stones with her beak. It was even
harder work than she had expected; but at last it was done, and hope arose in
her heart. She next drew out a piece of string that she had found hanging from
a tree, and sitting down to rest strung the stones together. When the necklace
was finished she hung it round her neck, and called: 'Parrot, come to me!' And
a little later the pink and grey parrot stood before the giant.
'Here
is the necklace you asked for,' said the parrot. And the eyes of the giant
glistened as he took the heap of blue stones in his hand. But for all that he
was not minded to give up the crown.
'They
are hardly as blue as I expected,' he grumbled, though the parrot knew as well
as he did that he was not speaking the truth; 'so you must bring me something
else in exchange for the crown you covet so much. If you fail it will cost you
not only the crown but you life also.'
'What
is it you want now?' asked the parrot; and the giant answered:
'If
I give you my crown I must have another still more beautiful; and this time you
shall bring me a crown of stars.'
The
parrot turned away, and as soon as she was outside she murmured:
'Toad,
come to me!' And sure enough a toad she was, and off she set in search of the
starry crown.
She
had not gone far before she came to a clear pool, in which the stars were
reflected so brightly that they looked quite real to touch and handle. Stooping
down she filled a bag she was carrying with the shining water and, returning to
the castle, wove a crown out of the reflected stars. Then she cried as before:
'Parrot,
come to me!' And in the shape of a parrot she entered the presence of the
giant.
'Here
is the crown you asked for,' she said; and this time the giant could not help
crying out with admiration. He knew he was beaten, and still holding the chaplet
of stars, he turned to the girl.
'Your
power is greater than mine: take the crown; you have won it fairly!'
The
parrot did not need to be told twice. Seizing the crown, she sprang on to the
window, crying: 'Monkey, come to me!' And to a monkey, the climb down the tree
into the courtyard did not take half a minute. When she had reached the ground
she said again: 'Ant, come to me!' And a little ant at once began to crawl over
the high wall. How glad the ant was to be out of the giant's castle, holding
fast the crown which had shrunk into almost nothing, as she herself had done,
but grew quite big again when the ant exclaimed:
'Deer,
come to me!'
Surely
no deer ever ran so swiftly as that one! On and on she went, bounding over
rivers and crashing through tangles till she reached the sea. Here she cried
for the last time:
'Fish,
come to me!' And, plunging in, she swam along the bottom as far as the palace,
where the queen and all the fishes gathered together awaiting her.
The
hours since she had left had gone very slowly--as they always do to people that
are waiting--and many of them had quite given up hope.
'I
am tired of staying here,' grumbled a beautiful little creature, whose colours
changed with every movement of her body, 'I want to see what is going on in the
upper world. It must be months since that fish went away.'
'It
was a very difficult task, and the giant must certainly have killed her or she
would have been back long ago,' remarked another.
'The
young flies will be coming out now,' murmured a third, 'and they will all be
eaten up by the river fish! It is really too bad!' When, suddenly, a voice was
heard from behind: 'Look! look! what is that bright thing that is moving so
swiftly towards us?' And the queen started up, and stood on her tail, so
excited was she.
A
silence fell on all the crowd, and even the grumblers held their peace and
gazed like the rest. On and on came the fish, holding the crown tightly in her
mouth, and the others moved back to let her pass. On she went right up to the
queen, who bent and, taking the crown, placed it on her own head. Then a
wonderful thing happened. Her tail dropped away or, rather, it divided and grew
into two legs and a pair of the prettiest feet in the world, while her maidens,
who were grouped around her, shed their scales and became girls again. They all
turned and looked at each other first, and next at the little fish who had
regained her own shape and was more beautiful than any of them.
'It
is you who have given us back our life; you, you!' they cried; and fell to
weeping from very joy.
So
they all went back to earth and the queen's palace, and quite forgot the one
that lay under the sea. But they had been so long away that they found many
changes. The prince, the queen's husband, had died some years since, and in his
place was her son, who had grown up and was king! Even in his joy at seeing his
mother again an air of sadness clung to him, and at last the queen could bear
it no longer, and begged him to walk with her in the garden. Seated together in
a bower of jessamine--where she had passed long hours as a bride--she took her
son's hand and entreated him to tell her the cause of his sorrow. 'For,' said
she, 'if I can give you happiness you shall have it.'
'It
is no use,' answered the prince; 'nobody can help me. I must bear it alone.'
'But
at least let me share your grief,' urged the queen.
'No
one can do that,' said he. 'I have fallen in love with what I can never marry,
and I must get on as best I can.'
'It
may not be as impossible as you think,' answered the queen. 'At any rate, tell
me.'
There
was silence between them for a moment, then, turning away his head, the prince
answered gently:
'I
have fallen in love with a beautiful deer!'
'Ah,
if that is all,' exclaimed the queen joyfully. And she told him in broken words
that, as he had guessed, it was no deer but an enchanted maiden who had won
back the crown and brought her home to her own people.
'She
is here, in my palace,' added the queen. 'I will take you to her.'
But
when the prince stood before the girl, who was so much more beautiful than
anything he had ever dreamed of, he lost all his courage, and stood with bent
head before her.
Then
the maiden drew near, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were the eyes of the
deer that day in the forest. She whispered softly:
'By
your favour let me go, and do not kill me.'
And
the prince remembered her words, and his heart was filled with happiness. And
the queen, his mother, watched them and smiled.
[From
Cuentos Populars Catalans, por lo Dr. D. Francisco de S. Maspons y Labros.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f23]
The
Owl and the Eagle
Once
upon a time, in a savage country where the snow lies deep for many months in
the year, there lived an owl and an eagle. Though they were so different in
many ways they became great friends, and at length set up house together, one
passing the day in hunting and the other the night. In this manner they did not
see very much of each other--and perhaps agreed all the better for that; but at
any rate they were perfectly happy, and only wanted one thing, or, rather, two
things, and that was a wife for each.
'I
really am too tired when I come home in the evening to clean up the house,'
said the eagle.
'And
I am much too sleepy at dawn after a long night's hunting to begin to sweep and
dust,' answered the owl. And they both made up their minds that wives they must
have.
They
flew about in their spare moments to the young ladies of their acquaintance,
but the girls all declared they preferred one husband to two. The poor birds
began to despair, when, one evening, after they had been for a wonder hunting
together, they found two sisters fast asleep on their two beds. The eagle
looked at the owl and the owl looked at the eagle.
'They
will make capital wives if they will only stay with us,' said they. And they
flew off to give themselves a wash, and to make themselves smart before the
girls awoke.
For
many hours the sisters slept on, for they had come a long way, from a town
where there was scarcely anything to eat, and felt weak and tired. But
by-and-by they opened their eyes and saw the two birds watching them.
'I
hope you are rested?' asked the owl politely.
'Oh,
yes, thank you,' answered the girls. 'Only we are so very hungry. Do you think
we could have something to eat?'
'Certainly!'
replied the eagle. And he flew away to a farmhouse a mile or two off, and
brought back a nest of eggs in his strong beak; while the owl, catching up a
tin pot, went to a cottage where lived an old woman and her cow, and entering
the shed by the window dipped the pot into the pail of new milk that stood
there.
The
girls were so much delighted with the kindness and cleverness of their hosts
that, when the birds inquired if they would marry them and stay there for ever,
they accepted without so much as giving it a second thought. So the eagle took
the younger sister to wife, and the owl the elder, and never was a home more
peaceful than theirs!
All
went well for several months, and then the eagle's wife had a son, while, on
the same day, the owl's wife gave birth to a frog, which she placed directly on
the banks of a stream near by, as he did not seem to like the house. The
children both grew quickly, and were never tired of playing together, or wanted
any other companions.
One
night in the spring, when the ice had melted, and the snow was gone, the
sisters sat spinning in the house, awaiting their husbands' return. But long
though they watched, neither the owl nor the eagle ever came; neither that day
nor the next, nor the next, nor the next. At last the wives gave up all hope of
their return; but, being sensible women, they did not sit down and cry, but
called their children, and set out, determined to seek the whole world over
till the missing husbands were found.
Now
the women had no idea in which direction the lost birds had gone, but they knew
that some distance off was a thick forest, where good hunting was to be found.
It seemed a likely place to find them, or, at any rate, they might hear
something of them, and they walked quickly on, cheered by the thought that they
were doing something. Suddenly the younger sister, who was a little in front,
gave a cry of surprise.
'Oh!
look at that lake!' she said, 'we shall never get across it.'
'Yes
we shall,' answered the elder; 'I know what to do.' And taking a long piece of
string from her pocket, fastened it into the frog's mouth, like a bit.
'You
must swim across the lake,' she said, stooping to put him in, 'and we will walk
across on the line behind you.' And so they did, till they got to about the
middle of the lake, when the frog boy stopped.
'I
don't like it, and I won't go any further,' cried he sulkily. And his mother
had to promise him all sorts of nice things before he would go on again.
When
at last they reached the other side, the owl's wife untied the line from the
frog's mouth and told him he might rest and play by the lake till they got back
from the forest. Then she and her sister and the boy walked on, with the great
forest looming before them. But they had by this time come far and were very
tired, and felt glad enough to see some smoke curling up from a little hut in
front of them.
'Let
us go in and ask for some water,' said the eagle's wife; and in they went.
The
inside of the hut was so dark that at first they could see nothing at all; but
presently they heard a feeble croak from one corner. But sisters turned to
look, and there, tied by wings and feet, and their eyes sunken, were the
husbands that they sought. Quick as lightning the wives cut the deer-thongs
which bound them; but the poor birds were too weak from pain and starvation to
do more than utter soft sounds of joy. Hardly, however, were they set free,
than a voice of thunder made the two sisters jump, while the little boy clung
tightly round his mother's neck.
'What
are you doing in my house?' cried she. And the wives answered boldly that now
they had found their husbands they meant to save them from such a wicked witch.
'Well,
I will give you your chance,' answered the ogress, with a hideous grin; 'we
will see if you can slide down this mountain. If you can reach the bottom of
the cavern, you shall have your husbands back again.' And as she spoke she
pushed them before her out of the door to the edge of a precipice, which went
straight down several hundreds of feet. Unseen by the witch, the frog's mother
fastened one end of the magic line about her, and whispered to the little boy
to hold fast the other. She had scarcely done so when the witch turned round.
'You
don't seem to like your bargain,' said she; but the girl answered:
'Oh,
yes, I am quite ready. I was only waiting for you!' And sitting down she began
her slide. On, on, she went, down to such a depth that even the witch's eyes
could not follow her; but she took for granted that the woman was dead, and
told the sister to take her place. At that instant, however, the head of the
elder appeared above the rock, brought upwards by the magic line. The witch
gave a howl of disgust, and hid her face in her hands; thus giving the younger
sister time to fasten the cord to her waist before the ogress looked up.
'You
can't expect such luck twice,' she said; and the girl sat down and slid over
the edge. But in a few minutes she too was back again, and the witch saw that
she had failed, and feared lest her power was going. Trembling with rage though
she was, she dared not show it, and only laughed hideously.
'I
sha'n't let my prisoners go as easily as all that!' she said. 'Make my hair
grow as thick and as black as yours, or else your husbands shall never see
daylight again.'
'That
is quite simple,' replied the elder sister; 'only you must do as we did--and
perhaps you won't like the treatment.'
'If
you can bear it, of course I can,' answered the witch. And so the girls told
her they had first smeared their heads with pitch and then laid hot stones upon
them.
'It
is very painful,' said they, 'but there is no other way that we know of. And in
order to make sure that all will go right, one of us will hold you down while
the other pours on the pitch.'
And
so they did; and the elder sister let down her hair till it hung over the
witch's eyes, so that she might believe it was her own hair growing. Then the
other brought a huge stone, and, in short, there was an end of the witch. The
sisters were savages who had never seen a missionary.
So
when the sisters saw that she was dead they went to the hut, and nursed their
husbands till they grew strong. Then they picked up the frog, and all went to
make another home on the other side of the great lake.
[From
the Journal of the Anthropological Institute.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f24]
The
Frog and the Lion Fairy
Once
upon a time there lived a king who was always at war with his neighbours, which
was very strange, as he was a good and kind man, quite content with his own
country, and not wanting to seize land belonging to other people. Perhaps he
may have tried too much to please everybody, and that often ends in pleasing
nobody; but, at any rate, he found himself, at the end of a hard struggle,
defeated in battle, and obliged to fall back behind the walls of his capital
city. Once there, he began to make preparations for a long siege, and the first
thing he did was to plan how best to send his wife to a place of security.
The
queen, who loved her husband dearly, would gladly have remained with him to
share his dangers, but he would not allow it. So they parted, with many tears,
and the queen set out with a strong guard to a fortified castle on the
outskirts of a great forest, some two hundred miles distant. She cried nearly
all the way, and when she arrived she cried still more, for everything in the
castle was dusty and old, and outside there was only a gravelled courtyard, and
the king had forbidden her to go beyond the walls without at least two soldiers
to take care of her.
Now
the queen had only been married a few months, and in her own home she had been
used to walk and ride all over the hills without any attendants at all; so she
felt very dull at her being shut up in this way. However, she bore it for a
long while because it was the king's wish, but when time passed and there were
no signs of the war drifting in the direction of the castle, she grew bolder,
and sometimes strayed outside the walls, in the direction of the forest.
Then
came a dreadful period, when news from the king ceased entirely.
'He
must surely be ill or dead,' thought the poor girl, who even now was only
sixteen. 'I can bear it no longer, and if I do not get a letter from him soon I
shall leave this horrible place and go back to see what is the matter. Oh! I do
wish I had never come away!'
So,
without telling anyone what she intended to do, she ordered a little low
carriage to be built, something like a sledge, only it was on two wheels--just
big enough to hold one person.
'I
am tired of being always in the castle,' she said to her attendants; 'and I
mean to hunt a little. Quite close by, of course,' she added, seeing the
anxious look on their faces. 'And there is no reason that you should not hunt
too.'
All
the faces brightened at that, for, to tell the truth, they were nearly as dull
as their mistress; so the queen had her way, and two beautiful horses were
brought from the stable to draw the little chariot. At first the queen took
care to keep near the rest of the hunt, but gradually she stayed away longer
and longer, and at last, one morning, she took advantage of the appearance of a
wild boar, after which her whole court instantly galloped, to turn into a path
in the opposite direction.
Unluckily,
it did not happen to lead towards the king's palace, where she intended to go,
but she was so afraid her flight would be noticed that she whipped up her
horses till they ran away.
When
she understood what was happening the poor young queen was terribly frightened,
and, dropping the reins, clung to the side of the chariot. The horses, thus
left without any control, dashed blindly against a tree, and the queen was
flung out on the ground, where she lay for some minutes unconscious.
A
rustling sound near her at length caused her to open her eyes; before her stood
a huge woman, almost a giantess, without any clothes save a lion's skin, which
was thrown over her shoulders, while a dried snake's skin was plaited into her
hair. In one hand she held a club on which she leaned, and in the other a
quiver full of arrows.
At
the sight of this strange figure the queen thought she must be dead, and gazing
on an inhabitant of another world. So she murmured softly to herself:
'I
am not surprised that people are so loth to die when they know that they will
see such horrible creatures.' But, low as she spoke, the giantess caught the
words, and began to laugh.
'Oh,
don't be afraid; you are still alive, and perhaps, after all, you may be sorry
for it. I am the Lion Fairy, and you are going to spend the rest of your days
with me in my palace, which is quite near this. So come along.' But the queen
shrank back in horror.
'Oh,
Madam Lion, take me back, I pray you, to my castle; and fix what ransom you
like, for my husband will pay it, whatever it is. But the giantess shook her head.
'I
am rich enough already,' she answered, 'but I am often dull, and I think you
may amuse me a little.' And, so saying, she changed her shape into that of a
lion, and throwing the queen across her back, she went down the ten thousand
steps that led to her palace. The lion had reached the centre of the earth
before she stopped in front of a house, lighted with lamps, and built on the
edge of a lake of quicksilver. In this lake various huge monsters might be seen
playing or fighting--the queen did not know which-- and around flew rooks and
ravens, uttering dismal croaks. In the distance was a mountain down whose sides
waters slowly coursed--these were the tears of unhappy lovers--and nearer the
gate were trees without either fruit of flowers, while nettles and brambles
covered the ground. If the castle had been gloomy, what did the queen feel
about this?
For
some days the queen was so much shaken by all she had gone through that she lay
with her eyes closed, unable either to move or speak. When she got better, the
Lion Fairy told her that if she liked she could build herself a cabin, as she
would have to spend her life in that place. At these words the queen burst into
tears, and implored her gaoler to put her to death rather than condemn her to
such a life; but the Lion Fairy only laughed, and counselled her to try to make
herself pleasant, as many worse things might befall her.
'Is
there no way in which I can touch your heart?' asked the poor girl in despair.
'Well,
if you really wish to please me you will make me a pasty out of the stings of
bees, and be sure it is good.'
'But
I don't see any bees,' answered the queen, looking round.
'Oh,
no, there aren't any,' replied her tormentor; 'but you will have to find them
all the same.' And, so saying, she went away.
'After
all, what does it matter?' thought the queen to herself, 'I have only one life,
and I can but lose it.' And not caring what she did, she left the palace and
seating herself under a yew tree, poured out all her grief.
'Oh,
my dear husband,' wept she, 'what will you think when you come to the castle to
fetch me and find me gone? Rather a thousand times that you should fancy me
dead than imagine that I had forgotten you! Ah, how fortunate that the broken
chariot should be lying in the wood, for then you may grieve for me as one
devoured by wild beasts. And if another should take my place in your
heart--Well, at least I shall never know it.'
She
might have continued for long in this fashion had not the voice of a crow directly
overhead attracted her attention. Looking up to see what was the matter she
beheld, in the dim light, a crow holding a fat frog in his claws, which he
evidently intended for his supper. The queen rose hastily from the seat, and
striking the bird sharply on the claws with the fan which hung from her side,
she forced him to drop the frog, which fell to the round more dead than alive.
The crow, furious at his disappointment, flew angrily away.
As
soon as the frog had recovered her senses she hopped up to the queen, who was
still sitting under the yew. Standing on her hind legs, and bowing low before
her, she said gently:
'Beautiful
lady, by what mischance do you come here? You are the only creature that I have
seen do a kind deed since a fatal curiosity lured me to this place.'
'What
sort of a frog can you be that knows the language of mortals?' asked the queen
in her turn. 'But if you do, tell me, I pray, if I alone am a captive, for
hitherto I have beheld no one but the monsters of the lake.'
'Once
upon a time they were men and women like yourself,' answered the frog, 'but
having power in their hands, they used it for their own pleasure. Therefore
fate has sent them here for a while to bear the punishment of their misdoings.'
'But
you, friend frog, you are not one of these wicked people, I am sure?' asked the
queen.
'I
am half a fairy,' replied the frog; 'but, although I have certain magic gifts,
I am not able to do all I wish. And if the Lion Fairy were to know of my
presence in her kingdom she would hasten to kill me.'
'But
if you are a fairy, how was it that you were so nearly slain by the crow?' said
the queen, wrinkling her forehead.
'Because
the secret of my power lies in my little cap that is made of rose leaves; but I
had laid it aside for the moment, when that horrible crow pounced upon me. Once
it is on my head I fear nothing. But let me repeat; had it not been for you I
could not have escaped death, and if I can do anything to help you, or soften
your hard fate, you have only to tell me.'
'Alas,'
sighed the queen, 'I have been commanded by the Lion Fairy to make her a pasty
out of the stings of bees, and, as far as I can discover, there are none here;
as how should there be, seeing there are no flowers for them to feed on? And,
even if there were, how could I catch them?'
'Leave
it to me,' said the frog, 'I will manage it for you.' And, uttering a strange
noise, she struck the ground thrice with her foot. In an instant six thousand
frogs appeared before her, one of them bearing a little cap.
'Cover
yourselves with honey, and hop round by the beehives,' commanded the frog,
putting on the cap which her friend was holding in her mouth. And turning to
the queen, he added:
'The
Lion Fairy keeps a store of bees in a secret place near to the bottom of the
ten thousand steps leading into the upper world. Not that she wants them for
herself, but they are sometimes useful to her in punishing her victims.
However, this time we will get the better of her.'
Just
as she had finished speaking the six thousand frogs returned, looking so
strange with bees sticking to every part of them that, sad as she felt, the
poor queen could not help laughing. The bees were all so stupefied with what
they had eaten that it was possible to draw their stings without hunting them.
So, with the help of her friend, the queen soon made ready her pasty and
carried it to the Lion Fairy.
'Not
enough pepper,' said the giantess, gulping down large morsels, in order the
hide the surprise she felt. 'Well, you have escaped this time, and I am glad to
find I have got a companion a little more intelligent than the others I have
tried. Now, you had better go and build yourself a house.'
So
the queen wandered away, and picking up a small axe which lay near the door she
began with the help of her friend the frog to cut down some cypress trees for
the purpose. And not content with that the six thousand froggy servants were
told to help also, and it was not long before they had built the prettiest
little cabin in the world, and made a bed in one corner of dried ferns which
they fetched from the top of the ten thousand steps. It looked soft and
comfortable, and the queen was very glad to lie down upon it, so tired was she
with all that had happened since the morning. Scarcely, however, had she fallen
asleep when the lake monsters began to make the most horrible noises just
outside, while a small dragon crept in and terrified her so that she ran away,
which was just what the dragon wanted!
The
poor queen crouched under a rock for the rest of the night, and the next
morning, when she woke from her troubled dreams, she was cheered at seeing the
frog watching by her.
'I
hear we shall have to build you another palace,' said she. 'Well, this time we
won't go so near the lake.' And she smiled with her funny wide mouth, till the
queen took heart, and they went together to find wood for the new cabin.
The
tiny palace was soon ready, and a fresh bed made of wild thyme, which smelt
delicious. Neither the queen nor the frog said anything about it, but somehow,
as always happens, the story came to the ears of the Lion Fairy, and she sent a
raven to fetch the culprit.
'What
gods or men are protecting you?' she asked, with a frown. 'This earth, dried up
by a constant rain of sulphur and fire, produces nothing, yet I hear that YOUR
bed is made of sweet smelling herbs. However, as you can get flowers for
yourself, of course you can get them for me, and in an hour's time I must have
in my room a nosegay of the rarest flowers. If not--! Now you can go.'
The
poor queen returned to her house looking so sad that the frog, who was waiting
for her, noticed it directly.
'What
is the matter?' said she, smiling.
'Oh,
how can you laugh!' replied the queen. 'This time I have to bring her in an
hour a posy of the rarest flowers, and where am I to find them? If I fail I
know she will kill me.'
'Well,
I must see if I can't help you,' answered the frog. 'The only person I have
made friends with here is a bat. She is a good creature, and always does what I
tell her, so I will just lend her my cap, and if she puts it on, and flies into
the world, she will bring back all we want. I would go myself, only she will be
quicker.'
Then
the queen dried her eyes, and waited patiently, and long before the hour had
gone by the bat flew in with all the most beautiful and sweetest flowers that
grew on the earth. The girl sprang up overjoyed at the sight, and hurried with
them to the Lion Fairy, who was so astonished that for once she had nothing to
say.
Now
the smell and touch of the flowers had made the queen sick with longing for her
home, and she told the frog that she would certainly die if she did not manage
to escape somehow.
'Let
me consult my cap,' said the frog; and taking it off she laid it in a box, and
threw in after it a few sprigs of juniper, some capers, and two peas, which she
carried under her right leg; she then shut down the lid of the box, and
murmured some words which the queen did not catch.
In
a few moments a voice was heard speaking from the box.
'Fate,
who rules us all,' said the voice, 'forbids your leaving this place till the
time shall come when certain things are fulfilled. But, instead, a gift shall
be given you, which will comfort you in all your troubles.'
And
the voice spoke truly, for, a few days after, when the frog peeped in at the
door she found the most beautiful baby in the world lying by the side of the
queen.
'So
the cap has kept its word,' cried the frog with delight. 'How soft its cheeks are,
and what tiny feet it has got! What shall we call it?'
This
was a very important point, and needed much discussion. A thousand names were
proposed and rejected for a thousand silly reasons. One was too long, and one
was too short. One was too harsh, and another reminded the queen of somebody
she did not like; but at length an idea flashed into the queen's head, and she
called out:
'I
know! We will call her Muffette.'
'That
is the very thing,' shouted the frog, jumping high into the air; and so it was
settled.
The
princess Muffette was about six months old when the frog noticed that the queen
had begun to grow sad again.
'Why
do you have that look in your eyes?' she asked one day, when she had come in to
play with the baby, who could now crawl.
The
way they played their game was to let Muffette creep close to the frog, and
then for the frog to bound high into the air and alight on the child's head, or
back, or legs, when she always sent up a shout of pleasure. There is no play
fellow like a frog; but then it must be a fairy frog, or else you might hurt
it, and if you did something dreadful might happen to you. Well, as I have
said, our frog was struck with the queen's sad face, and lost no time in asking
her what was the reason.
'I
don't see what you have to complain of now; Muffette is quite well and quite
happy, and even the Lion Fairy is kind to her when she sees her. What is it?'
'Oh!
if her father could only see her!' broke forth the queen, clasping her hands.
'Or if I could only tell him all that has happened since we parted. But they
will have brought him tidings of the broken carriage, and he will have thought
me dead, or devoured by wild beasts. And though he will mourn for me long--I
know that well--yet in time they will persuade him to take a wife, and she will
be young and fair, and he will forget me.'
And
in all this the queen guessed truly, save that nine long years were to pass
before he would consent to put another in her place.
The
frog answered nothing at the time, but stopped her game and hopped away among
the cypress trees. Here she sat and thought and thought, and the next morning
she went back to the queen and said:
'I
have come, madam, to make you an offer. Shall I go to the king instead of you,
and tell him of your sufferings, and that he has the most charming baby in the
world for his daughter? The way is long, and I travel slowly; but, sooner or
later, I shall be sure to arrive. Only, are you not afraid to be left without
my protection? Ponder the matter carefully; it is for you to decide.'
'Oh,
it needs no pondering,' cried the queen joyfully, holding up her clasped hands,
and making Muffette do likewise, in token of gratitude. But in order that he
may know that you have come from me I will send him a letter.' And pricking her
arm, she wrote a few words with her blood on the corner of her handkerchief.
Then tearing it off, she gave it to the frog, and they bade each other
farewell.
It
took the frog a year and four days to mount the ten thousand steps that led to
the upper world, but that was because she was still under the spell of a wicked
fairy. By the time she reached the top, she was so tired that she had to remain
for another year on the banks of a stream to rest, and also to arrange the procession
with which she was to present herself before the king. For she knew far too
well what was due to herself and her relations, to appear at Court as if she
was a mere nobody. At length, after many consultations with her cap, the affair
was settled, and at the end of the second year after her parting with the queen
they all set out.
First
walked her bodyguard of grasshoppers, followed by her maids of honour, who were
those tiny green frogs you see in the fields, each one mounted on a snail, and
seated on a velvet saddle. Next came the water-rats, dressed as pages, and
lastly the frog herself, in a litter borne by eight toads, and made of
tortoiseshell. Here she could lie at her ease, with her cap on her head, for it
was quite large and roomy, and could easily have held two eggs when the frog
was not in it.
The
journey lasted seven years, and all this time the queen suffered tortures of
hope, though Muffette did her best to comfort her. Indeed, she would most
likely have died had not the Lion Fairy taken a fancy that the child and her
mother should go hunting with her in the upper world, and, in spite of her
sorrows, it was always a joy to the queen to see the sun again. As for little
Muffette, by the time she was seven her arrows seldom missed their mark. So,
after all, the years of waiting passed more quickly than the queen had dared to
hope.
The
frog was always careful to maintain her dignity, and nothing would have
persuaded her to show her face in public places, or even along the high road,
where there was a chance of meeting anyone. But sometimes, when the procession
had to cross a little stream, or go over a piece of marshy ground, orders would
be given for a halt; fine clothes were thrown off, bridles were flung aside,
and grasshoppers, water-rats, even the frog herself, spent a delightful hour or
two playing in the mud.
But
at length the end was in sight, and the hardships were forgotten in the vision
of the towers of the king's palace; and, one bright morning, the cavalcade
entered the gates with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal embassy. And
surely no ambassador had ever created such a sensation! Door and windows, even
the roofs of houses, were filled with people, whose cheers reached the ears of
the king. However, he had no time to attend to such matters just then, as,
after nine years, he had at last consented to the entreaties of his courtiers,
and was on the eve of celebrating his second marriage.
The
frog's heart beat high when her litter drew up before the steps of the palace,
and leaning forward she beckoned to her side one of the guards who were
standing in his doorway.
'I
wish to see his Majesty,' said he.
'His
Majesty is engaged, and can see no one,' answered the soldier.
'His
Majesty will see ME,' returned the frog, fixing her eye upon him; and somehow
the man found himself leading the procession along the gallery into the Hall of
Audience, where the king sat surrounded by his nobles arranging the dresses
which everyone was to wear at his marriage ceremony.
All
stared in surprise as the procession advanced, and still more when the frog
gave one bound from the litter on to the floor, and with another landed on the
arm of the chair of state.
'I
am only just in time, sire,' began the frog; 'had I been a day later you would
have broken your faith which you swore to the queen nine years ago.'
'Her
remembrance will always be dear to me,' answered the king gently, though all
present expected him to rebuke the frog severely for her impertinence. But
know, Lady Frog, that a king can seldom do as he wishes, but must be bound by
the desires of his subjects. For nine years I have resisted them; now I can do
so no longer, and have made choice of the fair young maiden playing at ball
yonder.'
'You
cannot wed her, however fair she may be, for the queen your wife is still
alive, and sends you this letter written in her own blood,' said the frog,
holding out the square of handkerchief as she spoke. 'And, what is more, you
have a daughter who is nearly nine years old, and more beautiful than all the
other children in the world put together.'
The
king turned pale when he heard these words, and his hand trembled so that he
could hardly read what the queen had written. Then he kissed the handkerchief
twice or thrice, and burst into tears, and it was some minutes before he could
speak. When at length he found his voice he told his councillors that the
writing was indeed that of the queen, and now that he had the joy of knowing
she was alive he could, of course, proceed no further with his second marriage.
This naturally displeased the ambassadors who had conducted the bride to court,
and one of them inquired indignantly if he meant to put such an insult on the
princess on the word of a mere frog.
'I
am not a "mere frog," and I will give you proof of it,' retorted the
angry little creature. And putting on her cap, she cried: Fairies that are my
friends, come hither!' And in a moment a crowd of beautiful creatures, each one
with a crown on her head, stood before her. Certainly none could have guessed
that they were the snails, water-rats, and grasshoppers from which she had
chosen her retinue.
At
a sign from the frog the fairies danced a ballet, with which everyone was so
delighted that they begged to have to repeated; but now it was not youths and
maidens who were dancing, but flowers. Then these again melted into fountains,
whose waters interlaced and, rushing down the sides of the hall, poured out in
a cascade down the steps, and formed a river found the castle, with the most
beautiful little boats upon it, all painted and gilded.
'Oh,
let us go in them for a sail!' cried the princess, who had long ago left her
game of ball for a sight of these marvels, and, as she was bent upon it, the
ambassadors, who had been charged never to lose sight of her, were obliged to
go also, though they never entered a boat if they could help it.
But
the moment they and the princess had seated themselves on the soft cushions,
river and boats vanished, and the princess and the ambassadors vanished too.
Instead the snails and grasshoppers and water-rats stood round the frog in
their natural shapes.
'Perhaps,'
said she, 'your Majesty may now be convinced that I am a fairy and speak the
truth. Therefore lose no time in setting in order the affairs of your kingdom
and go in search of your wife. Here is a ring that will admit you into the
presence of the queen, and will likewise allow you to address unharmed the Lion
Fairy, though she is the most terrible creature that ever existed.'
By
this time the king had forgotten all about the princess, whom he had only
chosen to please his people, and was as eager to depart on his journey as the
frog was for him to go. He made one of his ministers regent of the kingdom, and
gave the frog everything her heart could desire; and with her ring on his
finger he rode away to the outskirts of the forest. Here he dismounted, and
bidding his horse go home, he pushed forward on foot.
Having
nothing to guide him as to where he was likely to find the entrance of the
under-world, the king wandered hither and thither for a long while, till, one
day, while he was resting under a tree, a voice spoke to him.
'Why
do you give yourself so much trouble for nought, when you might know what you
want to know for the asking? Alone you will never discover the path that leads
to your wife.'
Much
startled, the king looked about him. He could see nothing, and somehow, when he
thought about it, the voice seemed as if it were part of himself. Suddenly his
eyes fell on the ring, and he understood.
'Fool
that I was!' cried he; 'and how much precious time have I wasted? Dear ring, I
beseech you, grant me a vision of my wife and my daughter!' And even as he
spoke there flashed past him a huge lioness, followed by a lady and a beautiful
young maid mounted on fairy horses.
Almost
fainting with joy he gazed after them, and then sank back trembling on the
ground.
'Oh,
lead me to them, lead me to them!' he exclaimed. And the ring, bidding him take
courage, conducted him safely to the dismal place where his wife had lived for
ten years.
Now
the Lion Fairy knew beforehand of his expected presence in her dominions, and
she ordered a palace of crystal to be built in the middle of the lake of
quicksilver; and in order to make it more difficult of approach she let it
float whither it would. Immediately after their return from the chase, where
the king had seen them, she conveyed the queen and Muffette into the palace,
and put them under the guard of the monsters of the lake, who one and all had
fallen in love with the princess. They were horribly jealous, and ready to eat
each other up for her sake, so they readily accepted the charge. Some stationed
themselves round the floating palace, some sat by the door, while the smallest
and lightest perched themselves on the roof.
Of
course the king was quite ignorant of these arrangements, and boldly entered
the palace of the Lion Fairy, who was waiting for him, with her tail lashing
furiously, for she still kept her lion's shape. With a roar that shook the
walls she flung herself upon him; but he was on the watch, and a blow from his
sword cut off the paw she had put forth to strike him dead. She fell back, and
with his helmet still on and his shield up, he set his foot on her throat.
'Give
me back the wife and the child you have stolen from me,' he said, 'or you shall
not live another second!'
But
the fairy answered:
'Look
through the window at that lake and see if it is in my power to give them to
you.' And the king looked, and through the crystal walls he beheld his wife and
daughter floating on the quicksilver. At that sight the Lion Fairy and all her
wickedness was forgotten. Flinging off his helmet, he shouted to them with all
his might. The queen knew his voice, and she and Muffette ran to the window and
held out their hands. Then the king swore a solemn oath that he would never
leave the spot without taking them if it should cost him his life; and he meant
it, though at the moment he did not know what he was undertaking.
Three
years passed by, and the king was no nearer to obtaining his heart's desire. He
had suffered every hardship that could be imagined--nettles had been his bed,
wild fruits more bitter than gall his food, while his days had been spent in
fighting the hideous monsters which kept him from the palace. He had not
advanced one single step, nor gained one solitary advantage. Now he was almost
in despair, and ready to defy everything and throw himself into the lake.
It
was at this moment of his blackest misery that, one night, a dragon who had
long watched him from the roof crept to his side.
'You
thought that love would conquer all obstacles,' said he; 'well, you have found
it hasn't! But if you will swear to me by your crown and sceptre that you will
give me a dinner of the food that I never grow tired of, whenever I choose to
ask for it, I will enable you to reach your wife and daughter.'
Ah,
how glad the king was to hear that! What oath would he not have taken so as to
clasp his wife and child in is arms? Joyfully he swore whatever the dragon
asked of him; then he jumped on his back, and in another instant would have
been carried by the strong wings into the castle if the nearest monsters had
not happened to awake and hear the noise of talking and swum to the shore to
give battle. The fight was long and hard, and when the king at last beat back
his foes another struggle awaited him. At the entrance gigantic bats, owls, and
crows set upon him from all sides; but the dragon had teeth and claws, while
the queen broke off sharp bits of glass and stabbed and cut in her anxiety to
help her husband. At length the horrible creatures flew away; a sound like
thunder was heard, the palace and the monsters vanished, while, at the same
moment--no one knew how-- the king found himself standing with his wife and
daughter in the hall of his own home.
The
dragon had disappeared with all the rest, and for some years no more was heard
or thought of him. Muffette grew every day more beautiful, and when she was
fourteen the kings and emperors of the neighbouring countries sent to ask her
in marriage for themselves or their sons. For a long time the girl turned a
deaf ear to all their prayers; but at length a young prince of rare gifts
touched her heart, and though the king had left her free to choose what husband
she would, he had secretly hoped that out of all the wooers this one might be
his son-in-law. So they were betrothed that some day with great pomp, and then
with many tears, the prince set out for his father's court, bearing with him a
portrait of Muffette.
The
days passed slowly to Muffette, in spite of her brave efforts to occupy herself
and not to sadden other people by her complaints. One morning she was playing
on her harp in the queen's chamber when the king burst into the room and
clasped his daughter in his arms with an energy that almost frightened her.
'Oh,
my child! my dear child! why were you ever born?' cried he, as soon as he could
speak.
'Is
the prince dead?' faltered Muffette, growing white and cold.
'No,
no; but--oh, how can I tell you!' And he sank down on a pile of cushions while
his wife and daughter knelt beside him.
At
length he was able to tell his tale, and a terrible one it was! There had just
arrived at court a huge giant, as ambassador from the dragon by whose help the
king had rescued the queen and Muffette from the crystal palace. The dragon had
been very busy for many years past, and had quite forgotten the princess till
the news of her betrothal reached his ears. Then he remembered the bargain he
had made with her father; and the more he heard of Muffette the more he felt
sure she would make a delicious dish. So he had ordered the giant who was his
servant to fetch her at once.
No
words would paint the horror of both the queen and the princess as they
listened to this dreadful doom. They rushed instantly to the hall, where the
giant was awaiting them, and flinging themselves at his feet implored him to
take the kingdom if he would, but to have pity on the princess. The giant
looked at them kindly, for he was not at all hard-hearted, but said that he had
no power to do anything, and that if the princess did not go with him quietly
the dragon would come himself.
Several
days went by, and the king and queen hardly ceased from entreating the aid of
the giant, who by this time was getting weary of waiting.
'There
is only one way of helping you,' he said at last, 'and that is to marry the
princess to my nephew, who, besides being young and handsome, has been trained
in magic, and will know how to keep her safe from the dragon.'
'Oh,
thank you, thank you!' cried the parents, clasping his great hands to their
breasts. 'You have indeed lifted a load from us. She shall have half the
kingdom for her dowry.' But Muffette stood up and thrust them aside.
'I
will not buy my life with faithlessness,' she said proudly; 'and I will go with
you this moment to the dragon's abode.' And all her father's and mother's tears
and prayers availed nothing to move her.
The
next morning Muffette was put into a litter, and, guarded by the giant and
followed by the king and queen and the weeping maids of honour, they started
for the foot of the mountain where the dragon had his castle. The way, though
rough and stony, seemed all too short, and when they reached the spot appointed
by the dragon the giant ordered the men who bore the litter to stand still.
'It
is time for you to bid farewell to your daughter,' said he; 'for I see the
dragon coming to us.'
It
was true; a cloud appeared to pass over the sun, for between them and it they
could all discern dimly a huge body half a mile long approaching nearer and
nearer. At first the king could not believe that this was the small beast who
had seemed so friendly on the shore of the lake of quicksilver but then he knew
very little of necromancy, and had never studied the art of expanding and
contracting his body. But it was the dragon and nothing else, whose six wings
were carrying him forward as fast as might be, considering his great weight and
the length of his tail, which had fifty twists and a half.
He
came quickly, yes; but the frog, mounted on a greyhound, and wearing her cap on
her head, went quicker still. Entering a room where the prince was sitting
gazing at the portrait of his betrothed, she cried to him:
'What
are you doing lingering here, when the life of the princess is nearing its last
moment? In the courtyard you will find a green horse with three heads and
twelve feet, and by its side a sword eighteen yards long. Hasten, lest you
should be too late!'
The
fight lasted all day, and the prince's strength was well-nigh spent, when the
dragon, thinking that the victory was won, opened his jaws to give a roar of
triumph. The prince saw his chance, and before his foe could shut his mouth
again had plunged his sword far down his adversary's throat. There was a
desperate clutching of the claws to the earth, a slow flagging of the great
wings, then the monster rolled over on his side and moved no more. Muffette was
delivered.
After
this they all went back to the palace. The marriage took place the following
day, and Muffette and her husband lived happy for ever after.
[From
Les Contes des Fees, par Madame d'Aulnoy.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f25]
The
Adventures of Covan the Brown-Haired
On
the shores of the west, where the great hills stand with their feet in the sea,
dwelt a goatherd and his wife, together with their three sons and one daughter.
All day long the young men fished and hunted, while their sister took out the
kids to pasture on the mountain, or stayed at home helping her mother and
mending the nets.
For
several years they all lived happily together, when one day, as the girl was
out on the hill with the kids, the sun grew dark and an air cold as a thick
white mist came creeping, creeping up from the sea. She rose with a shiver, and
tried to call to her kids, but the voice died away in her throat, and strong
arms seemed to hold her.
Loud
were the wails in the hut by the sea when the hours passed on and the maiden
came not. Many times the father and brothers jumped up, thinking they heard her
steps, but in the thick darkness they could scarcely see their own hands, nor
could they tell where the river lay, nor where the mountain. One by one the
kids came home, and at every bleat someone hurried to open the door, but no
sound broke the stillness. Through the night no one slept, and when morning
broke and the mist rolled back, they sought the maiden by sea and by land, but
never a trace of her could be found anywhere.
Thus
a year and a day slipped by, and at the end of it Gorla of the Flocks and his
wife seemed suddenly to have grown old. Their sons too were sadder than before,
for they loved their sister well, and had never ceased to mourn for her. At
length Ardan the eldest spoke and said:
'It
is now a year and a day since our sister was taken from us, and we have waited
in grief and patience for her to return. Surely some evil has befallen her, or
she would have sent us a token to put our hearts at rest; and I have vowed to
myself that my eyes shall not know sleep till, living or dead, I have found
her.'
'If
you have vowed, then must you keep your vow,' answered Gorla. 'But better had
it been if you had first asked your father's leave before you made it. Yet,
since it is so, your mother will bake you a cake for you to carry with you on
your journey. Who can tell how long it may be?'
So
the mother arose and baked not one cake but two, a big one and a little one.
'Choose,
my son,' said she. 'Will you have the little cake with your mother's blessing,
or the big one without it, in that you have set aside your father and taken on
yourself to make a vow?'
'I
will have the large cake,' answered the youth; 'for what good would my mother's
blessing do for me if I was dying of hunger?' And taking the big cake he went
his way.
Straight
on he strode, letting neither hill nor river hinder him. Swiftly he walked--
swiftly as the wind that blew down the mountain. The eagles and the gulls
looked on from their nests as he passed, leaving the deer behind him; but at
length he stopped, for hunger had seized on him, and he could walk no more.
Trembling with fatigue he sat himself on a rock and broke a piece off his cake.
'Spare
me a morsel, Ardan son of Gorla,' asked a raven, fluttering down towards him.
'Seek
food elsewhere, O bearer of ill-news,' answered Ardan son of Gorla; 'it is but
little I have for myself.' And he stretched himself out for a few moments, then
rose to his feet again. On and on went he till the little birds flew to their
nests, and the brightness died out of the sky, and a darkness fell over the
earth. On and on, and on, till at last he saw a beam of light streaming from a
house and hastened towards it.
The
door was opened and he entered, but paused when he beheld an old man lying on a
bench by the fire, while seated opposite him was a maiden combing out the locks
of her golden hair with a comb of silver.
'Welcome,
fair youth,' said the old man, turning his head. 'Sit down and warm yourself,
and tell me how fares the outer world. It is long since I have seen it.'
'All
my news is that I am seeking service,' answered Ardan son of Gorla; 'I have
come from far since sunrise, and glad was I to see the rays of your lamp stream
into the darkness.'
'I
need someone to herd my three dun cows, which are hornless,' said the old man.
'If, for the space of a year, you can bring them back to me each evening before
the sun sets, I will make you payment that will satisfy your soul.'
But
here the girl looked up and answered quickly:
'Ill
will come of it if he listens to your offer.'
'Counsel
unsought is worth nothing,' replied, rudely, Ardan son of Gorla. 'It would be
little indeed that I am fit for if I cannot drive three cows out to pasture and
keep them safe from the wolves that may come down from the mountains.
Therefore, good father, I will take service with you at daybreak, and ask no
payment till the new year dawns.'
Next
morning the bell of the deer was not heard amongst the fern before the maiden
with the hair of gold had milked the cows, and led them in front of the cottage
where the old man and Ardan son of Gorla awaited them.
'Let
them wander where they will,' he said to his servant, 'and never seek to turn
them from their way, for well they know the fields of good pasture. But take
heed to follow always behind them, and suffer nothing that you see, and nought
that you hear, to draw you into leaving them. Now go, and may wisdom go with
you.'
As
he ceased speaking he touched one of the cows on her forehead, and she stepped
along the path, with the two others one on each side. As he had been bidden,
behind them came Ardan son of Gorla, rejoicing in his heart that work so easy
had fallen to his lot. At the year's end, thought he, enough money would lie in
his pocket to carry him into far countries where his sister might be, and, in
the meanwhile, someone might come past who could give him tidings of her.
Thus
he spoke to himself, when his eyes fell on a golden cock and a silver hen
running swiftly along the grass in front of him. In a moment the words that the
old man had uttered vanished from his mind and he gave chase. They were so near
that he could almost seize their tails, yet each time he felt sure he could
catch them his fingers closed on the empty air. At length he could run no more,
and stopped to breathe, while the cock and hen went on as before. Then he
remembered the cows, and, somewhat frightened, turned back to seek them.
Luckily they had not strayed far, and were quietly feeding on the thick green
grass.
Ardan
son of Gorla was sitting under a tree, when he beheld a staff of gold and a
staff of silver doubling themselves in strange ways on the meadow in front of
him, and starting up he hastened towards them. He followed them till he was
tired, but he could not catch them, though they seemed ever within his reach.
When at last he gave up the quest his knees trembled beneath him for very
weariness, and glad was he to see a tree growing close by lade with fruits of
different sorts, of which he ate greedily.
The
sun was by now low in the heavens, and the cows left off feeding, and turned
their faces home again, followed by Ardan son of Gorla. At the door of their
stable the maiden stood awaiting them, and saying nought to their herd, she sat
down and began to milk. But it was not milk that flowed into her pail; instead
it was filled with a thin stream of water, and as she rose up from the last cow
the old man appeared outside.
'Faithless
one, you have betrayed your trust!' he said to Ardan son of Gorla. 'Not even
for one day could you keep true! Well, you shall have your reward at once, that
others may take warning from you.' And waving his wand he touched with it the
chest of the youth, who became a pillar of stone.
Now
Gorla of the Flocks and his wife were full of grief that they had lost a son as
well as a daughter, for no tidings had come to them of Ardan their eldest born.
At length, when two years and two days had passed since the maiden had led her
kids to feed on the mountain and had been seen no more, Ruais, second son of
Gorla, rose up one morning, and said:
'Time
is long without my sister and Ardan my brother. So I have vowed to seek them
wherever they may be.'
And
his father answered:
'Better
it had been if you had first asked my consent and that of your mother; but as
you have vowed so must you do.' Then he bade his wife make a cake, but instead
she made two, and offered Ruais his choice, as she had done to Ardan. Like
Ardan, Ruais chose the large, unblessed cake, and set forth on his way, doing
always, though he knew it not, that which Ardan had done; so, needless is it to
tell what befell him till he too stood, a pillar of stone, on the hill behind
the cottage, so that all men might see the fate that awaited those who broke
their faith.
Another
year and a day passed by, when Covan the Brown-haired, youngest son of Gorla of
the Flocks, one morning spake to his parents, saying:
'It
is more than three years since my sister left us. My brothers have also gone,
no one know whither, and of us four none remains but I. No, therefore, I long
to seek them, and I pray you and my mother to place no hindrance in my way.'
And
his father answered:
'Go,
then, and take our blessing with you.'
So
the wife of Gorla of the Flocks baked two cakes, one large and one small; and
Covan took the small one, and started on his quest. In the wood he felt hungry,
for he had walked far, and he sat down to eat. Suddenly a voice behind him
cried:
'A
bit for me! a bit for me!' And looking round he beheld the black raven of the
wilderness.
'Yes,
you shall have a bit,' said Covan the Brown-haired; and breaking off a piece he
stretched it upwards to the raven, who ate it greedily. Then Covan arose and
went forward, till he saw the light from the cottage streaming before him, and
glad was he, for night was at hand.
'Maybe
I shall find some work there,' he thought, 'and at least I shall gain money to
help me in my search; for who knows how far my sister and my brothers may have
wandered?'
The
door stood open and he entered, and the old man gave him welcome, and the
golden-haired maiden likewise. As happened before, he was offered by the old
man to herd his cows; and, as she had done to his brothers, the maiden
counselled him to leave such work alone. But, instead of answering rudely, like
both Ardan and Ruais, he thanked her, with courtesy, though he had no mind to
heed her; and he listened to the warnings and words of his new master.
Next
day he set forth at dawn with the dun cows in front of him, and followed
patiently wherever they might lead him. On the way he saw the gold cock and
silver hen, which ran even closer to him than they had done to his brothers.
Sorely tempted, he longed to give them chase; but, remembering in time that he
had been bidden to look neither to the right nor to the left, with a mighty
effort he turned his eyes away. Then the gold and silver staffs seemed to
spring from the earth before him, but this time also he overcame; and though
the fruit from the magic tree almost touched his mouth, he brushed it aside and
went steadily on.
That
day the cows wandered father than ever they had done before, and never stopped
till they had reached a moor where the heather was burning. The fire was
fierce, but the cows took no heed, and walked steadily through it, Covan the
Brown-haired following them. Next they plunged into a foaming river, and Covan
plunged in after them, though the water came high above his waist. On the other
side of the river lay a wide plain, and here the cows lay down, while Covan
looked about him. Near him was a house built of yellow stone, and from it came
sweet songs, and Covan listened, and his heart grew light within him.
While
he was thus waiting there ran up to him a youth, scarcely able to speak so
swiftly had he sped; and he cried aloud:
'Hasten,
hasten, Covan the Brown-haired, for your cows are in the corn, and you must
drive them out!'
'Nay,'
said Covan smiling, 'it had been easier for you to have driven them out than to
come here to tell me.' And he went on listening to the music.
Very
soon the same youth returned and cried with panting breath:
'Out
upon you, Covan son of Gorla, that you stand there agape. For our dogs are
chasing your cows, and you must drive them off!'
'Nay,
then,' answered Covan as before, 'it had been easier for you to call off your
dogs than to come here to tell me.' And he stayed where he was till the music
ceased.
Then
he turned to look for the cows, and found them all lying in the place where he
had left them; but when they saw Covan they rose up and walked homewards,
taking a different path to that they had trod in the morning. This time they
passed over a plain so bare that a pin could not have lain there unnoticed, yet
Covan beheld with surprise a foal and its mother feeding there, both as fat as
if they had pastured on the richest grass. Further on they crossed another
plain, where the grass was thick and green, but on it were feeding a foal and
its mother, so lean that you could have counted their ribs. And further again
the path led them by the shores of a lake whereon were floating two boats; one
full of gay and happy youths, journeying to the land of the Sun, and another
with grim shapes clothed in black, travelling to the land of Night.
'What
can these things mean?' said Covan to himself, as he followed his cows.
Darkness
now fell, the wind howled, and torrents of rain poured upon them. Covan knew
not how far they might yet have to go, or indeed if they were on the right
road. He could not even see his cows, and his heart sank lest, after all, he
should have failed to bring them safely back. What was he to do?
He
waited thus, for he could go neither forwards nor backwards, till he felt a
great friendly paw laid on his shoulder.
'My
cave is just here,' said the Dog of Maol-mor, of whom Covan son of Gorla had
heard much. 'Spend the night here, and you shall be fed on the flesh of lamb,
and shall lay aside three-thirds of thy weariness.'
And
Covan entered, and supped, and slept, and in the morning rose up a new man.
'Farewell,
Covan,' said the Dog of Maol-mor. 'May success go with you, for you took what I
had to give and did not mock me. So, when danger is your companion, wish for
me, and I will not fail you.'
At
these words the Dog of Maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and Covan went to
seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where the darkness had come
upon them.
At
the sight of Covan the Brown-haired they walked onwards, Covan following ever
behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to the left. All that day
they walked, and when night fell they were in a barren plain, with only rocks
for shelter.
'We
must rest here as best we can,' spoke Covan to the cows. And they bowed their
heads and lay down in the place where they stood. Then came the black raven of
Corri-nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and whose wings never tired; and he
fluttered before the face of Covan and told him that he knew of a cranny in the
rock where there was food in plenty, and soft moss for a bed.
'Go
with me thither,' he said to Covan, 'and you shall lay aside three-thirds of
your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed,' and Covan listened thankfully
to his words, and at dawn he rose up to seek his cows.
'Farewell!'
cried the black raven. 'You trusted me, and took all I had to offer in return
for the food you once gave me. So if in time to come you need a friend, wish
for me, and I will not fail you.'
As
before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them, ready to set
out. All that day they walked, on and on, and on, Covan son of Gorla walking
behind them, till night fell while they were on the banks of a river.
'We
can go no further,' spake Covan to the cows. And they began to eat the grass by
the side of the stream, while Covan listened to them and longed for some supper
also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs were weak under him. Then there
was a swish of water at his feet, and out peeped the head of the famous otter
Doran-donn of the stream.
'Trust
to me and I will find you warmth and shelter,' said Doran-donn; 'and for food
fish in plenty.' And Covan went with him thankfully, and ate and rested, and
laid aside three-thirds of his weariness. At sunrise he left his bed of dried
sea-weed, which had floated up with the tide, and with a grateful heart bade
farewell to Doran-donn.
'Because
you trusted me and took what I had to offer, you have made me your friend, Covan,'
said Doran-donn. 'And if you should be in danger, and need help from one who
can swim a river or dive beneath a wave, call to me and I will come to you.'
Then he plunged into the stream, and was seen no more.
The
cows were standing ready in the place where Covan had left them, and they
journeyed on all that day, till, when night fell, they reached the cottage.
Joyful indeed was the old man as the cows went into their stables, and he
beheld the rich milk that flowed into the pail of the golden-haired maiden with
the silver comb.
'You
have done well indeed,' he said to Covan son of Gorla. 'And now, what would you
have as a reward?'
'I
want nothing for myself,' answered Covan the Brown-haired; 'but I ask you to
give me back my brothers and my sister who have been lost to us for three years
past. You are wise and know the lore of fairies and of witches; tell me where I
can find them, and what I must do to bring them to life again.'
The
old man looked grave at the words of Covan.
'Yes,
truly I know where they are,' answered he, 'and I say not that they may not be
brought to life again. But the perils are great--too great for you to
overcome.'
'Tell
me what they are,' said Covan again, 'and I shall know better if I may overcome
them.'
'Listen,
then, and judge. In the mountain yonder there dwells a roe, white of foot, with
horns that branch like the antlers of a deer. On the lake that leads to the
land of the Sun floats a duck whose body is green and whose neck is of gold. In
the pool of Corri-Bui swims a salmon with a skin that shines like silver, and
whose gills are red--bring them all to me, and then you shall know where dwell
your brothers and your sister!'
'To-morrow
at cock-crow I will begone!' answered Covan.
The
way to the mountain lay straight before him, and when he had climbed high he
caught sight of the roe with the white feet and the spotted sides, on the peak
in front.
Full
of hope he set out in pursuit of her, but by the time he had reached that peak
she had left it and was to be seen on another. And so it always happened, and
Covan's courage had well-nigh failed him, when the thought of the Dog of
Maol-mor darted into his mind.
'Oh,
that he was here!' he cried. And looking up he saw him.
'Why
did you summon me?' asked the Dog of Maol-mor. And when Covan had told him of
his trouble, and how the roe always led him further and further, the Dog only
answered:
'Fear
nothing; I will soon catch her for you.' And in a short while he laid the roe
unhurt at Covan's feet.
'What
will you wish me to do with her?' said the Dog. And Covan answered:
'The
old man bade me bring her, and the duck with the golden neck, and the salmon
with the silver sides, to his cottage; if I shall catch them, I know not. But
carry you the roe to the back of the cottage, and tether her so that she cannot
escape.'
'It
shall be done,' said the Dog of Maol-mor.
Then
Covan sped to the lake which led to the land of the Sun, where the duck with
the green body and the golden neck was swimming among the water-lilies.
'Surely
I can catch him, good swimmer as I am,' to himself. But, if he could swim well,
the duck could swim better, and at length his strength failed him, and he was
forced to seek the land.
'Oh
that the black raven were here to help me!' he thought to himself. And in a
moment the black raven was perched on his shoulder.
'How
can I help you?' asked the raven. And Covan answered:
'Catch
me the green duck that floats on the water.' And the raven flew with his strong
wings and picked him up in his strong beak, and in another moment the bird was
laid at the feet of Covan.
This
time it was easy for the young man to carry his prize, and after giving thanks
to the raven for his aid, he went on to the river.
In
the deep dark pool of which the old man had spoken the silver-sided salmon was
lying under a rock.
'Surely
I, good fisher as I am, can catch him,' said Covan son of Gorla. And cutting a
slender pole from a bush, he fastened a line to the end of it. But cast with
what skill he might, it availed nothing, for the salmon would not even look at
the bait.
'I
am beaten at last, unless the Doran-donn can deliver me,' he cried. And as he
spoke there was a swish of the water, and the face of the Doran-donn looked up
at him.
'O
catch me, I pray you, that salmon under the rock!' said Covan son of Gorla. And
the Doran-donn dived, and laying hold of the salmon by his tail, bore it back
to the place where Covan was standing.
'The
roe, and the duck, and the salmon are here,' said Covan to the old man, when he
reached the cottage. And the old man smiled on him and bade him eat and drink,
and after he hungered no more, he would speak with him.
And
this was what the old man said: 'You began well, my son, so things have gone well
with you. You set store by your mother's blessing, therefore you have been
blest. You gave food to the raven when it hungered, you were true to the
promise you had made to me, and did not suffer yourself to be turned aside by
vain shows. You were skilled to perceive that the boy who tempted you to leave
the temple was a teller of false tales, and took with a grateful heart what the
poor had to offer you. Last of all, difficulties gave you courage, instead of
lending you despair.
And
now, as to your reward, you shall in truth take your sister home with you, and
your brothers I will restore to life; but idle and unfaithful as they are their
lot is to wander for ever. And so farewell, and may wisdom be with you.'
'First
tell me your name?' asked Covan softly.
'I
am the Spirit of Age,' said the old man.
[Taken
from a Celtic Story. Translated by Doctor Macleod Clarke.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f26]
The
Princess Bella-Flor
Once
upon a time there lived a man who had two sons. When they grew up the elder
went to seek his fortune in a far country, and for many years no one heard
anything about him. Meanwhile the younger son stayed at home with his father,
who died at last in a good old age, leaving great riches behind him.
For
some time the son who stayed at home spent his father's wealth freely,
believing that he alone remained to enjoy it. But, one day, as he was coming
down stairs, he was surprised to see a stranger enter the hall, looking about
as if the house belonged to him.
'Have
you forgotten me?' asked the man.
'I
can't forget a person I have never known,' was the rude answer.
'I
am your brother,' replied the stranger, 'and I have returned home without the
money I hoped to have made. And, what is worse, they tell me in the village
that my father is dead. I would have counted my lost gold as nothing if I could
have seen him once more.'
'He
died six months ago,' said the rich brother, 'and he left you, as your portion,
the old wooden chest that stands in the loft. You had better go there and look
for it; I have no more time to waste.' And he went his way.
So
the wanderer turned his steps to the loft, which was at the top of the
storehouse, and there he found the wooden chest, so old that it looked as if it
were dropping to pieces.
'What
use is this old thing to me?' he said to himself. 'Oh, well, it will serve to
light a fire at which I can warm myself; so things might be worse after all.'
Placing
the chest on his back, the man, whose name was Jose, set out for his inn, and,
borrowing a hatchet, began to chop up the box. In doing so he discovered a
secret drawer, and in it lay a paper. He opened the paper, not knowing what it
might contain, and was astonished to find that it was the acknowledgment of a
large debt that was owing to his father. Putting the precious writing in his
pocket, he hastily inquired of the landlord where he could find the man whose
name was written inside, and he ran out at once in search of him.
The
debtor proved to be an old miser, who lived at the other end of the village. He
had hoped for many months that the paper he had written had been lost or
destroyed, and, indeed, when he saw it, was very unwilling to pay what he owed.
However, the stranger threatened to drag him before the king, and when the
miser saw that there was no help for it he counted out the coins one by one.
The stranger picked them up and put them in his pocket, and went back to his
inn feeling that he was now a rich man.
A
few weeks after this he was walking through the streets of the nearest town,
when he met a poor woman crying bitterly. He stopped and asked her what was the
matter, and she answered between her sobs that her husband was dying, and, to
make matters worse, a creditor whom he could not pay was anxious to have him
taken to prison.
'Comfort
yourself,' said the stranger kindly; 'they shall neither send your husband to
prison nor sell your goods. I will not only pay his debts but, if he dies, the
cost of his burial also. And now go home, and nurse him as well as you can.'
And
so she did; but, in spite of her care, the husband died, and was buried by the
stranger. But everything cost more than he expected, and when all was paid he
found that only three gold pieces were left.
'What
am I to do now?' said he to himself. 'I think I had better go to court, and
enter into the service of the king.'
At
first he was only a servant, who carried the king the water for his bath, and
saw that his bed was made in a particular fashion. But he did his duties so
well that his master soon took notice of him, and in a short time he rose to be
a gentleman of the bedchamber.
Now,
when this happened the younger brother had spent all the money he had
inherited, and did not know how to make any for himself. He then bethought him
of the king's favourite, and went whining to the palace to beg that his
brother, whom he had so ill-used, would give him his protection, and find him a
place. The elder, who was always ready to help everyone spoke to the king on
his behalf, and the next day the young man took up is work at court.
Unfortunately,
the new-comer was by nature spiteful and envious, and could not bear anyone to
have better luck than himself. By dint of spying through keyholes and listening
at doors, he learned that the king, old and ugly though he was, had fallen in
love with the Princess Bella-Flor, who would have nothing to say to him, and
had hidden herself in some mountain castle, no one knew where.
'That
will do nicely,' thought the scoundrel, rubbing his hands. 'It will be quite
easy to get the king to send my brother in search of her, and if he returns
without finding her, his head will be the forfeit. Either way, he will be out
of MY path.'
So
he went at once to the Lord High Chamberlain and craved an audience of the
king, to whom he declared he wished to tell some news of the highest
importance. The king admitted him into the presence chamber without delay, and
bade him state what he had to say, and to be quick about it.
'Oh,
sire! the Princess Bella-Flor--' answered the man, and then stopped as if
afraid.
'What
of the Princess Bella-Flor?' asked the king impatiently.
'I
have heard--it is whispered at court--that your majesty desires to know where
she lies in hiding.'
'I
would give half my kingdom to the man who will bring her to me,' cried the
king, eagerly. 'Speak on, knave; has a bird of the air revealed to you the
secret?'
'It
is not I, but my brother, who knows,' replied the traitor; 'if your majesty
would ask him--' But before the words were out of his mouth the king had struck
a blow with his sceptre on a golden plate that hung on the wall.
'Order
Jose to appear before me instantly,' he shouted to the servant who ran to obey
his orders, so great was the noise his majesty had made; and when Jose entered
the hall, wondering what in the world could be the matter, the king was nearly
dumb from rage and excitement.
'Bring
me the Princess Bella-Flor this moment,' stammered he, 'for if you return without
her I will have you drowned!' And without another word he left the hall,
leaving Jose staring with surprise and horror.
'How
can I find the Princess Bella-Flor when I have never even seen her?' thought
he. 'But it is no use staying here, for I shall only be put to death.' And he
walked slowly to the stables to choose himself a horse.
There
were rows upon rows of fine beasts with their names written in gold above their
stalls, and Jose was looking uncertainly from one to the other, wondering which
he should choose, when an old white horse turned its head and signed to him to
approach.
'Take
me,' it said in a gentle whisper, 'and all will go well.'
Jose
still felt so bewildered with the mission that the king had given him that he
forgot to be astonished at hearing a horse talk. Mechanically he laid his hand
on the bridle and led the white horse out of the stable. He was about to mount
on his back, when the animal spoke again:
'Pick
up those three loaves of bread which you see there, and put them in your
pocket.'
Jose
did as he was told, and being in a great hurry to get away, asked no questions,
but swung himself into the saddle.
They
rode far without meeting any adventures, but at length they came to an
ant-hill, and the horse stopped.
'Crumble
those three loaves for the ants,' he said. But Jose hesitated.
'Why,
we may want them ourselves!' answered he.
'Never
mind that; give them to the ants all the same. Do not lose a chance of helping
others.' And when the loaves lay in crumbs on the road, the horse galloped on.
By-and-by
they entered a rocky pass between two mountains, and here they saw an eagle
which had been caught in a hunter's net.
'Get
down and cut the meshes of the net, and set the poor bird free,' said the horse.
'But
it will take so long,' objected Jose, 'and we may miss the princess.'
'Never
mind that; do not lose a chance of helping others,' answered the horse. And
when the meshes were cut, and the eagle was free, the horse galloped on.
The
had ridden many miles, and at last they came to a river, where they beheld a
little fish lying gasping on the sand, and the horse said:
'Do
you see that little fish? It will die if you do not put it back in the water.'
'But,
really, we shall never find the Princess Bella-Flor if we waste our time like
this!' cried Jose.
'We
never waste time when we are helping others,' answered the horse. And soon the
little fish was swimming happily away.
A
little while after they reached a castle, which was built in the middle of a
very thick wood, and right in front was the Princess Bella-Flor feeding her
hens.
'Now
listen,' said the horse. 'I am going to give all sorts of little hops and
skips, which will amuse the Princess Bella-Flor. Then she will tell you that she
would like to ride a little way, and you must help her to mount. When she is
seated I shall begin to neigh and kick, and you must say that I have never
carried a woman before, and that you had better get up behind so as to be able
to manage me. Once on my back we will go like the wind to the king's palace.'
Jose
did exactly as the horse told him, and everything fell out as the animal
prophesied; so that it was not until they were galloping breathlessly towards
the palace that the princess knew that she was taken captive. She said nothing,
however, but quietly opened her apron which contained the bran for the
chickens, and in a moment it lay scattered on the ground.
'Oh,
I have let fall my bran!' cried she; 'please get down and pick it up for me.'
But Jose only answered:
'We
shall find plenty of bran where we are going.' And the horse galloped on.
They
were now passing through a forest, and the princess took out her handkerchief
and threw it upwards, so that it stuck in one of the topmost branches of a
tree.
'Dear
me; how stupid! I have let my handkerchief blow away,' said she. 'Will you
climb up and get it for me?' But Jose answered:
'We
shall find plenty of handkerchiefs where we are going.' And the horse galloped
on.
After
the wood they reached a river, and the princess slipped a ring off her finger
and let it roll into the water.
'How
careless of me,' gasped she, beginning to sob. 'I have lost my favourite ring;
DO stop for a moment and look if you can see it.' But Jose answered:
'You
will find plenty of rings where you are going.' And the horse galloped on.
At
last they entered the palace gates, and the king's heart bounded with joy at
beholding his beloved Princess Bella-Flor. But the princess brushed him aside
as if he had been a fly, and locked herself into the nearest room, which she
would not open for all his entreaties.
'Bring
me the three things I lost on the way, and perhaps I may think about it,' was
all she would say. And, in despair, the king was driven to take counsel of
Jose.
'There
is no remedy that I can see,' said his majesty, 'but that you, who know where
they are, should go and bring them back. And if you return without them I will
have you drowned.'
Poor
Jose was much troubled at these words. He thought that he had done all that was
required of him, and that his life was safe. However, he bowed low, and went
out to consult his friend the horse.
'Do
not vex yourself,' said the horse, when he had heard the story; 'jump up, and
we will go and look for the things.' And Jose mounted at once.
They
rode on till they came to the ant-hill, and then the horse asked:
'Would
you like to have the bran?'
'What
is the use of liking?' answered Jose.
'Well,
call the ants, and tell them to fetch it for you; and, if some of it has been
scattered by the wind, to bring in its stead the grains that were in the cakes
you gave them.' Jose listened in surprise. He did not much believe in the
horse's plan; but he could not think of anything better, so he called to the
ants, and bade them collect the bran as fast as they could.
Then
he saw under a tree and waited, while his horse cropped the green turf.
'Look
there!' said the animal, suddenly raising its head; and Jose looked behind him
and saw a little mountain of bran, which he put into a bag that was hung over
his saddle.
'Good
deeds bear fruit sooner or later,' observed the horse; 'but mount again, as we
have far to go.'
When
they arrived at the tree, they saw the handkerchief fluttering like a flag from
the topmost branch, and Jose's spirits sank again.
'How
am I to get that handkerchief?' cried he; 'why I should need Jacob's ladder!'
But the horse answered:
'Do
not be frightened; call to the eagle you set free from the net, he will bring
it to you.'
So
Jose called to the eagle, and the eagle flew to the top of the tree and brought
back the handkerchief in its beak. Jose thanked him, and vaulting on his horse
they rode on to the river.
A
great deal of rain had fallen in the night, and the river, instead of being
clear as it was before, was dark and troubled.
'How
am I to fetch the ring from the bottom of this river when I do not know exactly
where it was dropped, and cannot even see it?' asked Jose. But the horse
answered: 'Do not be frightened; call the little fish whose life you saved, and
she will bring it to you.'
So
he called to the fish, and the fish dived to the bottom and slipped behind big
stones, and moved little ones with its tail till it found the ring, and brought
it to Jose in its mouth.
Well
pleased with all he had done, Jose returned to the palace; but when the king
took the precious objects to Bella-Flor, she declared that she would never open
her door till the bandit who had carried her off had been fried in oil.
'I
am very sorry,' said the king to Jose, 'I really would rather not; but you see
I have no choice.'
While
the oil was being heated in the great caldron, Jose went to the stables to
inquire of his friend the horse if there was no way for him to escape.
'Do
not be frightened,' said the horse. 'Get on my back, and I will gallop till my
whole body is wet with perspiration, then rub it all over your skin, and no
matter how hot the oil may be you will never feel it.'
Jose
did not ask any more questions, but did as the horse bade him; and men wondered
at his cheerful face as they lowered him into the caldron of boiling oil. He
was left there till Bella-Flor cried that he must be cooked enough. Then out
came a youth so young and handsome, that everyone fell in love with him, and
Bella-Flor most of all.
As
for the old king, he saw that he had lost the game; and in despair he flung
himself into the caldron, and was fried instead of Jose. Then Jose was
proclaimed king, on condition that he married Bella-Flor which he promised to
do the next day. But first he went to the stables and sought out the horse, and
said to him: 'It is to you that I owe my life and my crown. Why have you done
all this for me?'
And
the horse answered: 'I am the soul of that unhappy man for whom you spent all
your fortune. And when I saw you in danger of death I begged that I might help
you, as you had helped me. For, as I told you, Good deeds bear their own
fruit!'
[From
Cuentos, Oraciones, y Adivinas, por Fernan Caballero.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f27]
The
Bird of Truth
Once
upon a time there lived a poor fisher who built a hut on the banks of a stream
which, shunning the glare of the sun and the noise of the towns, flowed quietly
past trees and under bushes, listening to the songs of the birds overhead.
One
day, when the fisherman had gone out as usual to cast his nets, he saw borne
towards him on the current a cradle of crystal. Slipping his net quickly
beneath it he drew it out and lifted the silk coverlet. Inside, lying on a soft
bed of cotton, were two babies, a boy and a girl, who opened their eyes and
smiled at him. The man was filled with pity at the sight, and throwing down his
lines he took the cradle and the babies home to his wife.
The
good woman flung up her hands in despair when she beheld the contents of the
cradle.
'Are
not eight children enough,' she cried, 'without bringing us two more? How do
you think we can feed them?'
'You
would not have had me leave them to die of hunger,' answered he, 'or be
swallowed up by the waves of the sea? What is enough for eight is also enough
for ten.'
The
wife said no more; and in truth her heart yearned over the little creatures.
Somehow or other food was never lacking in the hut, and the children grew up
and were so good and gentle that, in time, their foster-parents loved them as
well or better than their own, who were quarrelsome and envious. It did not
take the orphans long to notice that the boys did not like them, and were
always playing tricks on them, so they used to go away by themselves and spend
whole hours by the banks of the river. Here they would take out the bits of
bread they had saved from their breakfasts and crumble them for the birds. In
return, the birds taught them many things: how to get up early in the morning,
how to sing, and how to talk their language, which very few people know.
But
though the little orphans did their best to avoid quarrelling with their
foster-brothers, it was very difficult always to keep the peace. Matters got
worse and worse till, one morning, the eldest boy said to the twins:
'It
is all very well for you to pretend that you have such good manners, and are so
much better than we, but we have at least a father and mother, while you have
only got the river, like the toads and the frogs.'
The
poor children did not answer the insult; but it made them very unhappy. And
they told each other in whispers that they could not stay there any longer, but
must go into the world and seek their fortunes.
So
next day they arose as early as the birds and stole downstairs without anybody
hearing them. One window was open, and they crept softly out and ran to the
side of the river. Then, feeling as if they had found a friend, they walked
along its banks, hoping that by-and-by they should meet some one to take care
of them.
The
whole of that day they went steadily on without seeing a living creature, till,
in the evening, weary and footsore, they saw before them a small hut. This
raised their spirits for a moment; but the door was shut, and the hut seemed
empty, and so great was their disappointment that they almost cried. However,
the boy fought down his tears, and said cheerfully:
'Well,
at any rate here is a bench where we can sit down, and when we are rested we
will think what is best to do next.'
Then
they sat down, and for some time they were too tired even to notice anything;
but by-and-by they saw that under the tiles of the roof a number of swallows
were sitting, chattering merrily to each other. Of course the swallows had no
idea that the children understood their language, or they would not have talked
so freely; but, as it was, they said whatever came into their heads.
'Good
evening, my fine city madam,' remarked a swallow, whose manners were rather
rough and countryfied to another who looked particularly distinguished. 'Happy,
indeed, are the eyes that behold you! Only think of your having returned to
your long-forgotten country friends, after you have lived for years in a
palace!'
'I
have inherited this nest from my parents,' replied the other, 'and as they left
it to me I certainly shall make it my home. But,' she added politely, 'I hope
that you and all your family are well?'
'Very
well indeed, I am glad to say. But my poor daughter had, a short time ago, such
bad inflammation in her eyes that she would have gone blind had I not been able
to find the magic herb, which cured her at once.'
'And
how is the nightingale singing? Does the lark soar as high as ever? And does
the linnet dress herself as smartly?' But here the country swallow drew herself
up.
'I
never talk gossip,' she said severely. 'Our people, who were once so innocent
and well-behaved, have been corrupted by the bad examples of men. It is a
thousand pities.'
'What!
innocence and good behaviour are not to be met with among birds, nor in the
country! My dear friend, what are you saying?'
'The
truth and nothing more. Imagine, when we returned here, we met some linnets
who, just as the spring and the flowers and the long days had come, were
setting out for the north and the cold? Out of pure compassion we tried to
persuade them to give up this folly; but they only replied with the utmost
insolence.'
'How
shocking!' exclaimed the city swallow.
'Yes,
it was. And worse than that, the crested lark, that was formerly so timid and
shy, is now no better than a thief, and steals maize and corn whenever she can
find them.'
'I
am astonished at what you say.'
'You
will be more astonished when I tell you that on my arrival here for the summer
I found my nest occupied by a shameless sparrow! "This is my nest," I
said. "Yours?" he answered, with a rude laugh. "Yes, mine; my
ancestors were born here, and my sons will be born here also." And at that
my husband set upon him and threw him out of the nest. I am sure nothing of
this sort ever happens in a town.'
'Not
exactly, perhaps. But I have seen a great deal--if you only knew!'
'Oh!
do tell us! do tell us!' cried they all. And when they had settled themselves
comfortably, the city swallow began:
'You
must know, then that our king fell in love with the youngest daughter of a
tailor, who was as good and gentle as she was beautiful. His nobles hoped that
he would have chosen a queen from one of their daughters, and tried to prevent
the marriage; but the king would not listen to them, and it took place. Not
many months later a war broke out, and the king rode away at the head of his
army, while the queen remained behind, very unhappy at the separation. When
peace was made, and the king returned, he was told that his wife had had two
babies in his absence, but that both were dead; that she herself had gone out
of her mind and was obliged to be shut up in a tower in the mountains, where, in
time, the fresh air might cure her.'
'And
was this not true?' asked the swallows eagerly.
'Of
course not,' answered the city lady, with some contempt for their stupidity.
'The children were alive at that very moment in the gardener's cottage; but at night
the chamberlain came down and put them in a cradle of crystal, which he carried
to the river.
'For
a whole day they floated safely, for though the stream was deep it was very
still, and the children took no harm. In the morning--so I am told by my friend
the kingfisher--they were rescued by a fisherman who lived near the river
bank.'
The
children had been lying on the bench, listening lazily to the chatter up to
this point; but when they heard the story of the crystal cradle which their
foster-mother had always been fond of telling them, they sat upright and looked
at each other.
'Oh,
how glad I am I learnt the birds' language!' said the eyes of one to the eyes
of the other.
Meanwhile
the swallows had spoken again.
'That
was indeed good fortune!' cried they.
'And
when the children are grown up they can return to their father and set their
mother free.'
'It
will not be so easy as you think,' answered the city swallow, shaking her head;
'for they will have to prove that they are the king's children, and also that
their mother never went mad at all. In fact, it is so difficult that there is
only one way of proving it to the king.'
'And
what is that?' cried all the swallows at once. 'And how do you know it?'
'I
know it,' answered the city swallow, 'because, one day, when I was passing
through the palace garden, I met a cuckoo, who, as I need not tell you, always
pretends to be able to see into the future. We began to talk about certain
things which were happening in the palace, and of the events of past years.
"Ah," said he, "the only person who can expose the wickedness of
the ministers and show the king how wrong he has been, is the Bird of Truth,
who can speak the language of men."
'"And
where can this bird be found?" I asked.
'"It
is shut up in a castle guarded by a fierce giant, who only sleeps one quarter
of an hour out of the whole twenty-four," replied the cuckoo.
'And
where is this castle?' inquired the country swallow, who, like all the rest,
and the children most of all, had been listening with deep attention.
'That
is just what I don't know,' answered her friend. 'All I can tell you is that
not far from here is a tower, where dwells an old witch, and it is she who
knows the way, and she will only teach it to the person who promises to bring
her the water from the fountain of many colours, which she uses for her
enchantments. But never will she betray the place where the Bird of Truth is
hidden, for she hates him, and would kill him if she could; knowing well, however,
that this bird cannot die, as he is immortal, she keeps him closely shut up,
and guarded night and day by the Birds of Bad Faith, who seek to gag him so
that his voice should not be heard.'
'And
is there no one else who can tell the poor boy where to find the bird, if he
should ever manage to reach the tower?' asked the country swallow.
'No
one,' replied the city swallow, 'except an owl, who lives a hermit's life in
that desert, and he knows only one word of man's speech, and that is
"cross." So that even if the prince did succeed in getting there, he
could never understand what the owl said. But, look, the sun is sinking to his
nest in the depths of the sea, and I must go to mine. Good-night, friends,
good-night!'
Then
the swallow flew away, and the children, who had forgotten both hunger and
weariness in the joy of this strange news, rose up and followed in the
direction of her flight. After two hours' walking, they arrived at a large
city, which they felt sure must be the capital of their father's kingdom.
Seeing a good-natured looking woman standing at the door of a house, they asked
her if she would give them a night's lodging, and she was so pleased with their
pretty faces and nice manners that she welcomed them warmly.
It
was scarcely light the next morning before the girl was sweeping out the rooms,
and the boy watering the garden, so that by the time the good woman came
downstairs there was nothing left for her to do. This so delighted her that she
begged the children to stay with her altogether, and the boy answered that he
would leave his sisters with her gladly, but that he himself had serious
business on hand and must not linger in pursuit of it. So he bade them farewell
and set out.
For
three days he wandered by the most out-of-the-way paths, but no signs of a
tower were to be seen anywhere. On the fourth morning it was just the same,
and, filled with despair, he flung himself on the ground under a tree and hid
his face in his hands. In a little while he heard a rustling over his head, and
looking up, he saw a turtle dove watching him with her bright eyes.
'Oh
dove!' cried the boy, addressing the bird in her own language, 'Oh dove! tell
me, I pray you, where is the castle of Come-and-never-go?'
'Poor
child,' answered the dove, 'who has sent you on such a useless quest?'
'My
good or evil fortune,' replied the boy, 'I know not which.'
'To
get there,' said the dove, 'you must follow the wind, which to-day is blowing
towards the castle.'
The
boy thanked her, and followed the wind, fearing all the time that it might
change its direction and lead him astray. But the wind seemed to feel pity for
him and blew steadily on.
With
each step the country became more and more dreary, but at nightfall the child
could see behind the dark and bare rocks something darker still. This was the
tower in which dwelt the witch; and seizing the knocker he gave three loud
knocks, which were echoed in the hollows of the rocks around.
The
door opened slowly, and there appeared on the threshold an old woman holding up
a candle to her face, which was so hideous that the boy involuntarily stepped
backwards, almost as frightened by the troop of lizards, beetles and such
creatures that surrounded her, as by the woman herself.
'Who
are you who dare to knock at my door and wake me?' cried she. 'Be quick and
tell me what you want, or it will be the worse for you.'
'Madam,'
answered the child, 'I believe that you alone know the way to the castle of
Come-and-never-go, and I pray you to show it to me.'
'Very
good,' replied the witch, with something that she meant for a smile, 'but
to-day it is late. To-morrow you shall go. Now enter, and you shall sleep with
my lizards.'
'I
cannot stay,' said he. 'I must go back at once, so as to reach the road from
which I started before day dawns.'
'If
I tell you, will you promise me that you will bring me this jar full of the
many-coloured water from the spring in the court-yard of the castle?' asked
she. 'If you fail to keep your word I will change you into a lizard for ever.'
'I
promise,' answered the boy.
Then
the old woman called to a very thin dog, and said to him:
'Conduct
this pig of a child to the castle of Come-and-never-go, and take care that you
warn my friend of his arrival.' And the dog arose and shook itself, and set
out.
At
the end of two hours they stopped in front of a large castle, big and black and
gloomy, whose doors stood wide open, although neither sound nor light gave sign
of any presence within. The dog, however, seemed to know what to expect, and,
after a wild howl, went on; but the boy, who was uncertain whether this was the
quarter of an hour when the giant was asleep, hesitated to follow him, and
paused for a moment under a wild olive that grew near by, the only tree which
he had beheld since he had parted from the dove. 'Oh, heaven, help me!' cried
he.
'Cross!
cross!' answered a voice.
The
boy leapt for joy as he recognised the note of the owl of which the swallow had
spoken, and he said softly in the bird's language:
'Oh,
wise owl, I pray you to protect and guide me, for I have come in search of the
Bird of Truth. And first I must fill this far with the many-coloured water in
the courtyard of the castle.'
'Do
not do that,' answered the owl, 'but fill the jar from the spring which bubbles
close by the fountain with the many-coloured water. Afterwards, go into the
aviary opposite the great door, but be careful not to touch any of the
bright-plumaged birds contained in it, which will cry to you, each one, that he
is the Bird of Truth. Choose only a small white bird that is hidden in a
corner, which the others try incessantly to kill, not knowing that it cannot
die. And, be quick!--for at this very moment the giant has fallen asleep, and
you have only a quarter of an hour to do everything.'
The
boy ran as fast as he could and entered the courtyard, where he saw the two
spring close together. He passed by the many-coloured water without casting a
glance at it, and filled the jar from the fountain whose water was clear and
pure. He next hastened to the aviary, and was almost deafened by the clamour
that rose as he shut the door behind him. Voices of peacocks, voices of ravens,
voices of magpies, each claiming to be the Bird of Truth. With steadfast face
the boy walked by them all, to the corner, where, hemmed in by a hand of fierce
crows, was the small white bird he sought. Putting her safely in his breast, he
passed out, followed by the screams of the birds of Bad Faith which he left
behind him.
Once
outside, he ran without stopping to the witch's tower, and handed to the old
woman the jar she had given him.
'Become
a parrot!' cried she, flinging the water over him. But instead of losing his
shape, as so many had done before, he only grew ten times handsomer; for the
water was enchanted for good and not ill. Then the creeping multitude around
the witch hastened to roll themselves in the water, and stood up, human beings
again.
When
the witch saw what was happening, she took a broomstick and flew away.
Who
can guess the delight of the sister at the sight of her brother, bearing the
Bird of Truth? But although the boy had accomplished much, something very
difficult yet remained, and that was how to carry the Bird of Truth to the king
without her being seized by the wicked courtiers, who would be ruined by the
discovery of their plot.
Soon--no
one knew how--the news spread abroad that the Bird of Truth was hovering round
the palace, and the courtiers made all sorts of preparations to hinder her
reaching the king.
They
got ready weapons that were sharpened, and weapons that were poisoned; they
sent for eagles and falcons to hunt her down, and constructed cages and boxes
in which to shut her up if they were not able to kill her. They declared that
her white plumage was really put on to hide her black feathers--in fact there
was nothing they did not do in order to prevent the king from seeing the bird
or from paying attention to her words if he did.
As
often happens in these cases, the courtiers brought about that which they
feared. They talked so much about the Bird of Truth that at last the king heard
of it, and expressed a wish to see her. The more difficulties that were put in
his way the stronger grew his desire, and in the end the king published a proclamation
that whoever found the Bird of Truth should bring her to him without delay.
As
soon as he saw this proclamation the boy called his sister, and they hastened
to the palace. The bird was buttoned inside his tunic, but, as might have been
expected, the courtiers barred the way, and told the child that he could not
enter. It was in vain that the boy declared that he was only obeying the king's
commands; the courtiers only replied that his majesty was not yet out of bed,
and it was forbidden to wake him.
They
were still talking, when, suddenly, the bird settled the question by flying
upwards through an open window into the king's own room. Alighting on the
pillow, close to the king's head, she bowed respectfully, and said:
'My
lord, I am the Bird of Truth whom you wished to see, and I have been obliged to
approach you in the manner because the boy who brought me is kept out of the
palace by your courtiers.'
'They
shall pay for their insolence,' said the king. And he instantly ordered one of
his attendants to conduct the boy at once to his apartments; and in a moment
more the prince entered, holding his sister by the hand.
'Who
are you?' asked the king; 'and what has the Bird of Truth to do with you?'
'If
it please your majesty, the Bird of Truth will explain that herself,' answered
the boy.
And
the bird did explain; and the king heard for the first time of the wicked plot
that had been successful for so many years. He took his children in his arms,
with tears in his eyes, and hurried off with them to the tower in the mountains
where the queen was shut up. The poor woman was as white as marble, for she had
been living almost in darkness; but when she saw her husband and children, the
colour came back to her face, and she was as beautiful as ever.
They
all returned in state to the city, where great rejoicings were held. The wicked
courtiers had their heads cut off, and all their property was taken away. As
for the good old couple, they were given riches and honour, and were loved and cherished
to the end of their lives.
[From
Cuentos, Oraciones y Adivinas, por Fernan Caballero.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f28]
The
Mink and the Wolf
In
a big forest in the north of America lived a quantity of wild animals of all
sorts. They were always very polite when they met; but, in spite of that, they
kept a close watch one upon the other, as each was afraid of being killed and
eaten by somebody else. But their manners were so good that no one would ever
had guessed that.
One
day a smart young wolf went out to hunt, promising his grandfather and
grandmother that he would be sure to be back before bedtime. He trotted along
quite happily through the forest till he came to a favourite place of his, just
where the river runs into the sea. There, just as he had hoped, he saw the
chief mink fishing in a canoe.
'I
want to fish too,' cried the wolf. But the mink said nothing and pretended not
to hear.
'I
wish you would take me into your boat!' shouted the wolf, louder than before,
and he continued to beseech the mink so long that at last he grew tired of it,
and paddled to the shore close enough for the wolf to jump in.
'Sit
down quietly at that end or we shall be upset,' said the mink; 'and if you care
about sea-urchins' eggs, you will find plenty in that basket. But be sure you
eat only the white ones, for the red ones would kill you.'
So
the wolf, who was always hungry, began to eat the eggs greedily; and when he
had finished he told the mink he thought he would have a nap.
'Well,
then, stretch yourself out, and rest your head on that piece of wood,' said the
mink. And the wolf did as he was bid, and was soon fast asleep. Then the mink
crept up to him and stabbed him to the heart with his knife, and he died
without moving. After that he landed on the beach, skinned the wolf, and taking
the skin to his cottage, he hung it up before the fire to dry.
Not
many days later the wolf's grandmother, who, with the help of her relations,
had been searching for him everywhere, entered the cottage to buy some
sea-urchins' eggs, and saw the skin, which she at once guessed to be that of
her grandson.
'I
knew he was dead--I knew it! I knew it!' she cried, weeping bitterly, till the
mink told her rudely that if she wanted to make so much noise she had better do
it outside as he liked to be quiet. So, half-blinded by her tears, the old
woman went home the way she had come, and running in at the door, she flung
herself down in front of the fire.
'What
are you crying for?' asked the old wolf and some friends who had been spending
the afternoon with him.
'I
shall never see my grandson any more!' answered she. 'Mink has killed him, oh!
oh!' And putting her head down, she began to weep as loudly as ever.
'There!
there!' said her husband, laying his paw on her shoulder. 'Be comforted; if he
IS dead, we will avenge him.' And calling to the others they proceeded to talk
over the best plan. It took them a long time to make up their minds, as one
wolf proposed one thing and one another; but at last it was agreed that the old
wolf should give a great feast in his house, and that the mink should be
invited to the party. And in order that no time should be lost it was further
agreed that each wolf should bear the invitations to the guests that lived
nearest to him.
Now
the wolves thought they were very cunning, but the mink was more cunning still;
and though he sent a message by a white hare, that was going that way, saying
he should be delighted to be present, he determined that he would take his
precautions. So he went to a mouse who had often done him a good turn, and
greeted her with his best bow.
'I
have a favour to ask of you, friend mouse,' said he, 'and if you will grant it
I will carry you on my back every night for a week to the patch of maize right
up the hill.'
'The
favour is mine,' answered the mouse. 'Tell me what it is that I can have the
honour of doing for you.'
'Oh,
something quite easy,' replied the mink. 'I only want you--between to-day and
the next full moon--to gnaw through the bows and paddles of the wolf people, so
that directly they use them they will break. But of course you must manage it
so that they notice nothing.'
'Of
course,' answered the mouse, 'nothing is easier; but as the full moon is
to-morrow night, and there is not much time, I had better begin at once.' Then
the mink thanked her, and went his way; but before he had gone far he came back
again.
'Perhaps,
while you are about the wolf's house seeing after the bows, it would do no harm
if you were to make that knot-hole in the wall a little bigger,' said he. 'Not
large enough to draw attention, of course; but it might come in handy.' And
with another nod he left her.
The
next evening the mink washed and brushed himself carefully and set out for the
feast. He smiled to himself as he looked at the dusty track, and perceived that
though the marks of wolves' feet were many, not a single guest was to be seen
anywhere. He knew very well what that meant; but he had taken his precautions
and was not afraid.
The
house door stood open, but through a crack the mink could see the wolves
crowding in the corner behind it. However, he entered boldly, and as soon as he
was fairly inside the door was shut with a bang, and the whole herd sprang at
him, with their red tongues hanging out of their mouths. Quick as they were
they were too late, for the mink was already through the knot-hole and racing
for his canoe.
The
knot-hole was too small for the wolves, and there were so many of them in the
hut that it was some time before they could get the door open. Then they seized
the bows and arrows which were hanging on the walls and, once outside, aimed at
the flying mink; but as they pulled the bows broke in their paws, so they threw
them away, and bounded to the shore, with all their speed, to the place where
their canoes were drawn up on the beach.
Now,
although the mink could not run as fast as the wolves, he had a good start, and
was already afloat when the swiftest among them threw themselves into the
nearest canoe. They pushed off, but as they dipped the paddles into the water,
they snapped as the bows had done, and were quite useless.
'I
know where there are some new ones,' cried a young fellow, leaping on shore and
rushing to a little cave at the back of the beach. And the mink's heart smote
him when he heard, for he had not known of this secret store.
After
a long chase the wolves managed to surround their prey, and the mink, seeing it
was no good resisting any more, gave himself up. Some of the elder wolves
brought out some cedar bands, which they always carried wound round their
bodies, but the mink laughed scornfully at the sight of them.
'Why
I could snap those in a moment,' said he; 'if you want to make sure that I
cannot escape, better take a line of kelp and bind me with that.'
'You
are right,' answered the grandfather; 'your wisdom is greater than ours.' And
he bade his servants gather enough kelp from the rocks to make a line, as they
had brought none with them.
'While
the line is being made you might as well let me have one last dance,' remarked
the mink. And the wolves replied: 'Very good, you may have your dance; perhaps
it may amuse us as well as you.' So they brought two canoes and placed them one
beside the other. The mink stood up on his hind legs and began to dance, first
in one canoe and then in the other; and so graceful was he, that the wolves
forgot they were going to put him to death, and howled with pleasure.
'Pull
the canoes a little apart; they are too close for this new dance,' he said,
pausing for a moment. And the wolves separated them while he gave a series of
little springs, sometime pirouetting while he stood with one foot on the prow
of both. 'Now nearer, now further apart,' he would cry as the dance went on.
'No! further still.' And springing into the air, amidst howls of applause, he
came down head-foremost, and dived to the bottom. And through the wolves, whose
howls had now changed into those of rage, sought him everywhere, they never
found him, for he hid behind a rock till they were out of sight, and then made
his home in another forest.
[From
the Journal of the Anthropological Institute.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f29]
Adventures
of an Indian Brave
A
long, long way off, right away in the west of America, there once lived an old
man who had one son. The country round was covered with forests, in which dwelt
all kinds of wild beasts, and the young man and his companions used to spend
whole days in hunting them, and he was the finest hunter of all the tribe.
One
morning, when winter was coming on, the youth and his companions set off as
usual to bring back some of the mountain goats and deer to be salted down, as
he was afraid of a snow-storm; and if the wind blew and the snow drifted the
forest might be impassable for some weeks. The old man and the wife, however,
would not go out, but remained in the wigwam making bows and arrows.
It
soon grew so cold in the forest that at last one of the men declared they could
walk no more, unless they could manage to warm themselves.
'That
is easily done,' said the leader, giving a kick to a large tree. Flames broke
out in the trunk, and before it had burnt up they were as hot as if it had been
summer. Then they started off to the place where the goats and deer were to be
found in the greatest numbers, and soon had killed as many as they wanted. But
the leader killed most, as he was the best shot.
'Now
we must cut up the game and divide it,' said he; and so they did, each one
taking his own share; and, walking one behind the other, set out for the
village. But when they reached a great river the young man did not want the
trouble of carrying his pack any further, and left it on the bank.
'I
am going home another way,' he told his companions. And taking another road he
reached the village long before they did.
'Have
you returned with empty hands?' asked the old man, as his son opened the door.
'Have
I ever done that, that you put me such a question?' asked the youth. 'No; I
have slain enough to feast us for many moons, but it was heavy, and I left the
pack on the bank of the great river. Give me the arrows, I will finish making
them, and you can go to the river and bring home the pack!'
So
the old man rose and went, and strapped the meat on his shoulder; but as he was
crossing the ford the strap broke and the pack fell into the river. He stooped
to catch it, but it swirled past him. He clutched again; but in doing so he
over-balanced himself and was hurried into some rapids, where he was knocked
against some rocks, and he sank and was drowned, and his body was carried down
the stream into smoother water when it rose to the surface again. But by this
time it had lost all likeness to a man, and was changed into a piece of wood.
The
wood floated on, and the river got bigger and bigger and entered a new country.
There it was borne by the current close to the shore, and a woman who was down
there washing her clothes caught it as it passed, and drew it out, saying to
herself: 'What a nice smooth plank! I will use it as a table to put my food
upon.' And gathering up her clothes she took the plank with her into her hut.
When
her supper time came she stretched the board across two strings which hung from
the roof, and set upon it the pot containing a stew that smelt very good. The
woman had been working hard all day and was very hungry, so she took her
biggest spoon and plunged it into the pot. But what was her astonishment and
disgust when both pot and food vanished instantly before her!
'Oh,
you horrid plank, you have brought me ill-luck!' she cried. And taking it up
she flung it away from her.
The
woman had been surprised before at the disappearance of her food, but she was
more astonished still when, instead of the plank, she beheld a baby. However,
she was fond of children and had none of her own, so she made up her mind that
she would keep it and take care of it. The baby grew and throve as no baby in
that country had ever done, and in four days he was a man, and as tall and
strong as any brave of the tribe.
'You
have treated me well,' he said, 'and meat shall never fail to your house. But
now I must go, for I have much work to do.'
Then
he set out for his home.
It
took him many days to get there, and when he saw his son sitting in his place
his anger was kindled, and his heart was stirred to take vengeance upon him. So
he went out quickly into the forest and shed tears, and each tear became a
bird. 'Stay there till I want you,' said he; and he returned to the hut.
'I
saw some pretty new birds, high up in a tree yonder,' he remarked. And the son
answered: 'Show me the way and I will get them for dinner.'
The
two went out together, and after walking for about half an hour they old man
stopped. 'That is the tree,' he said. And the son began to climb it.
Now
a strange thing happened. The higher the young man climbed the higher the birds
seemed to be, and when he looked down the earth below appeared no bigger than a
star. Sill he tried to go back, but he could not, and though he could not see
the birds any longer he felt as if something were dragging him up and up.
He
thought that he had been climbing that tree for days, and perhaps he had, for
suddenly a beautiful country, yellow with fields of maize, stretched before
him, and he gladly left the top of the tree and entered it. He walked through
the maize without knowing where he was going, when he heard a sound of
knocking, and saw two old blind women crushing their food between two stones.
He crept up to them on tiptoe, and when one old woman passed her dinner to the
other he held out his hand and took it and ate if for himself.
'How
slow you are kneading that cake,' cried the other old woman at last.
'Why,
I have given you your dinner, and what more do you want?' replied the second.
'You
didn't; at least I never got it,' said the other.
'I
certainly thought you took it from me; but here is some more.' And again the
young man stretched out his hand; and the two old women fell to quarrelling
afresh. But when it happened for the third time the old women suspected some
trick, and one of them exclaimed:
'I
am sure there is a man here; tell me, are you not my grandson?'
'Yes,'
answered the young man, who wished to please her, 'and in return for your good
dinner I will see if I cannot restore your sight; for I was taught in the art
of healing by the best medicine man in the tribe.' And with that he left them,
and wandered about till he found the herb which he wanted. Then he hastened
back to the old women, and begging them to boil him some water, he threw the
herb in. As soon as the pot began to sing he took off the lid, and sprinkled
the eyes of the women, and sight came back to them once more.
There
was no night in that country, so, instead of going to bed very early, as he
would have done in his own hut, the young man took another walk. A splashing
noise near by drew him down to a valley through which ran a large river, and up
a waterfall some salmon were leaping. How their silver sides glistened in the
light, and how he longed to catch some of the great fellows! But how could he
do it? He had beheld no one except the old women, and it was not very likely
that they would be able to help him. So with a sigh he turned away and went
back to them, but, as he walked, a thought struck him. He pulled out one of his
hairs which hung nearly to his waist, and it instantly became a strong line,
nearly a mile in length.
'Weave
me a net that I may catch some salmon,' said he. And they wove him the net he
asked for, and for many weeks he watched by the river, only going back to the
old women when he wanted a fish cooked.
At
last, one day, when he was eating his dinner, the old woman who always spoke first,
said to him:
'We
have been very glad to see you, grandson, but now it is time that you went
home.' And pushing aside a rock, he saw a deep hole, so deep that he could not
see to the bottom. Then they dragged a basket out of the house, and tied a rope
to it. 'Get in, and wrap this blanket round your head,' said they; 'and,
whatever happens, don't uncover it till you get to the bottom.' Then they bade
him farewell, and he curled himself up in the basket.
Down,
down, down he went; would he ever stop going? But when the basket did stop, the
young man forgot what he had been told, and put his head out to see what was
the matter. In an instant the basket moved, but, to his horror, instead of
going down, he felt himself being drawn upwards, and shortly after he beheld
the faces of the old women.
'You
will never see your wife and son if you will not do as you are bid,' said they.
'Now get in, and do not stir till you hear a crow calling.'
This
time the young man was wiser, and though the basket often stopped, and strange
creatures seemed to rest on him and to pluck at his blanket, he held it tight
till he heard the crow calling. Then he flung off the blanket and sprang out,
while the basket vanished in the sky.
He
walked on quickly down the track that led to the hut, when, before him, he saw
his wife with his little son on her back.
'Oh!
there is father at last,' cried the boy; but the mother bade him cease from
idle talking.
'But,
mother, it is true; father is coming!' repeated the child. And, to satisfy him,
the woman turned round and perceived her husband.
Oh,
how glad they all were to be together again! And when the wind whistled through
the forest, and the snow stood in great banks round the door, the father used
to take the little boy on his knee and tell him how he caught salmon in the
Land of the Sun.
[From
the Journal of the Anthropological Institute.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f30]
How
the Stalos Were Tricked
'Mother,
I have seen such a wonderful man,' said a little boy one day, as he entered a
hut in Lapland, bearing in his arms the bundle of sticks he had been sent out
to gather.
'Have
you, my son; and what was he like?' asked the mother, as she took off the
child's sheepskin coat and shook it on the doorstep.
'Well,
I was tired of stooping for the sticks, and was leaning against a tree to rest,
when I heard a noise of 'sh-'sh, among the dead leaves. I thought perhaps it
was a wolf, so I stood very still. But soon there came past a tall man--oh!
twice as tall as father--with a long red beard and a red tunic fastened with a
silver girdle, from which hung a silver-handled knife. Behind him followed a
great dog, which looked stronger than any wolf, or even a bear. But why are you
so pale, mother?'
'It
was the Stalo,' replied she, her voice trembling; 'Stalo the man-eater! You did
well to hide, or you might never had come back. But, remember that, though he
is so tall and strong, he is very stupid, and many a Lapp has escaped from his
clutches by playing him some clever trick.'
Not
long after the mother and son had held this talk, it began to be whispered in
the forest that the children of an old man called Patto had vanished one by
one, no one knew whither. The unhappy father searched the country for miles
round without being able to find as much as a shoe or a handkerchief, to show
him where they had passed, but at length a little boy came with news that he
had seen the Stalo hiding behind a well, near which the children used to play.
The boy had waited behind a clump of bushes to see what would happen, and
by-and-by he noticed that the Stalo had laid a cunning trap in the path to the
well, and that anybody who fell over it would roll into the water and drown
there.
And,
as he watched, Patto's youngest daughter ran gaily down the path, till her foot
caught in the strings that were stretched across the steepest place. She
slipped and fell, and in another instant had rolled into the water within reach
of the Stalo.
As
soon as Patto heard this tale his heart was filled with rage, and he vowed to
have his revenge. So he straightway took an old fur coat from the hook where it
hung, and putting it on went out into the forest. When he reached the path that
led to the well he looked hastily round to be sure that no one was watching
him, then laid himself down as if he had been caught in the snare and had
rolled into the well, though he took care to keep his head out of the water.
Very
soon he heard a 'sh-'sh of the leaves, and there was the Stalo pushing his way
through the undergrowth to see what chance he had of a dinner. At the first
glimpse of Patto's head in the well he laughed loudly, crying:
'Ha!
ha! This time it is the old ass! I wonder how he will taste?' And drawing Patto
out of the well, he flung him across his shoulders and carried him home. Then
he tied a cord round him and hung him over the fire to roast, while he finished
a box that he was making before the door of the hut, which he meant to hold
Patto's flesh when it was cooked. In a very short time the box was so nearly
done that it only wanted a little more chipping out with an axe; but this part
of the work was easier accomplished indoors, and he called to one of his sons
who were lounging inside to bring him the tool.
The
young man looked everywhere, but he could not find the axe, for the very good
reason that Patto had managed to pick it up and hide it in his clothes.
'Stupid
fellow! what is the use of you?' grumbled his father angrily; and he bade first
one and then another of his sons to fetch him the tool, but they had no better
success than their brother.
'I
must come myself, I suppose!' said Stalo, putting aside the box. But,
meanwhile, Patto had slipped from the hook and concealed himself behind the
door, so that, as Stalo stepped in, his prisoner raised the axe, and with one
blow the ogre's head was rolling on the ground. His sons were so frightened at
the sight that they all ran away.
And
in this manner Patto avenged his dead children.
But
though Stalo was dead, his three sons were still living, and not very far off
either. They had gone to their mother, who was tending some reindeer on the
pastures, and told her that by some magic, they knew not what, their father's
head had rolled from his body, and they had been so afraid that something
dreadful would happen to them that they had come to take refuge with her. The
ogress said nothing. Long ago she had found out how stupid her sons were, so
she just sent them out to milk the reindeer, while she returned to the other
house to bury her husband's body.
Now,
three days' journey from the hut on the pastures two brothers Sodno dwelt in a
small cottage with their sister Lyma, who tended a large herd of reindeer while
they were out hunting. Of late it had been whispered from one to another that
the three young Stalos were to be seen on the pastures, but the Sodno brothers
did not disturb themselves, the danger seemed too far away.
Unluckily,
however, one day, when Lyma was left by herself in the hut, the three Stalos
came down and carried her and the reindeer off to their own cottage. The
country was very lonely, and perhaps no one would have known in which direction
she had gone had not the girl managed to tie a ball of thread to the handle of
a door at the back of the cottage and let it trail behind her. Of course the
ball was not long enough to go all the way, but it lay on the edge of a snowy
track which led straight to the Stalos' house.
When
the brothers returned from their hunting they found both the hut and the sheds
empty. Loudly they cried: 'Lyma! Lyma!' But no voice answered them; and they
fell to searching all about, lest perchance their sister might have dropped
some clue to guide them. At length their eyes dropped on the thread which lay
on the snow, and they set out to follow it.
On
and on they went, and when at length the thread stopped the brothers knew that
another day's journey would bring them to the Stalos' dwelling. Of course they
did not dare to approach it openly, for the Stalos had the strength of giants,
and besides, there were three of them; so the two Sodnos climbed into a big
bushy tree which overhung a well.
'Perhaps
our sister may be sent to draw water here,' they said to each other.
But
it was not till the moon had risen that the sister came, and as she let down
her bucket into the well, the leaves seemed to whisper 'Lyma! Lyma!'
The
girl started and looked up, but could see nothing, and in a moment the voice
came again.
'Be
careful--take no notice, fill your buckets, but listen carefully all the while,
and we will tell you what to do so that you may escape yourself and set free
the reindeer also.'
So
Lyman bent over the well lower than before, and seemed busier than ever.
'You
know,' said her brother, 'that when a Stalo finds that anything has been
dropped into his food he will not eat a morsel, but throws it to his dogs. Now,
after the pot has been hanging some time over the fire, and the broth is nearly
cooked, just rake up the log of wood so that some of the ashes fly into the
pot. The Stalo will soon notice this, and will call you to give all the food to
the dogs; but, instead, you must bring it straight to us, as it is three days
since we have eaten or drunk. That is all you need do for the present.'
Then
Lyma took up her buckets and carried them into the house, and did as her
brothers had told her. They were so hungry that they ate the food up greedily
without speaking, but when there was nothing left in the pot, the eldest one
said:
'Listen
carefully to what I have to tell you. After the eldest Stalo has cooked and
eaten a fresh supper, he will go to bed and sleep so soundly that not even a
witch could wake him. You can hear him snoring a mile off, and then you must go
into his room and pull off the iron mantle that covers him, and put it on the
fire till it is almost red hot. When that is done, come to us and we will give
you further directions.'
'I
will obey you in everything, dear brothers,' answered Lyman; and so she did.
It
had happened that on this very evening the Stalos had driven in some of the
reindeer from the pasture, and had tied them up to the wall of the house so
that they might be handy to kill for next day's dinner. The two Sodnos had seen
what they were doing, and where the beasts were secured; so, at midnight, when
all was still, they crept down from their tree and seized the reindeer by the
horns which were locked together. The animals were frightened, and began to
neigh and kick, as if they were fighting together, and the noise became so
great that even the eldest Stalo was awakened by it, and that was a thing which
had never occurred before. Raising himself in his bed, he called to his
youngest brother to go out and separate the reindeer or they would certainly
kill themselves.
The
young Stalo did as he was bid, and left the house; but no sooner was he out of
the door than he was stabbed to the heart by one of the Sodnos, and fell
without a groan. Then they went back to worry the reindeer, and the noise
became as great as ever, and a second time the Stalo awoke.
'The
boy does not seem to be able to part the beasts,' he cried to his second
brother; 'go and help him, or I shall never get to sleep.' So the brother went,
and in an instant was struck dead as he left the house by the sword of the
eldest Sodno. The Stalo waited in bed a little longer for things to get quiet,
but as the clatter of the reindeer's horns was as bad as ever, he rose angrily
from his bed muttering to himself:
'It
is extraordinary that they cannot unlock themselves; but as no one else seems
able to help them I suppose I must go and do it.'
Rubbing
his eyes, he stood up on the floor and stretched his great arms and gave a yawn
which shook the walls. The Sodnos heard it below, and posted themselves, one at
the big door and one at the little door at the back, for they did not know what
their enemy would come out at.
The
Stalo put out his hand to take his iron mantle from the bed, where it always
lay, but the mantle was no there. He wondered where it could be, and who could
have moved it, and after searching through all the rooms, he found it hanging
over the kitchen fire. But the first touch burnt him so badly that he let it
alone, and went with nothing, except a stick in his hand, through the back
door.
The
young Sodno was standing ready for him, and as the Stalo passed the threshold
struck him such a blow on the head that he rolled over with a crash and never
stirred again. The two Sodnos did not trouble about him, but quickly stripped
the younger Stalos of their clothes, in which they dressed themselves. Then
they sat still till the dawn should break and they could find out from the
Stalos' mother where the treasure was hidden.
With
the first rays of the sun the young Sodno went upstairs and entered the old
woman's room. She was already up and dressed, and sitting by the window
knitting, and the young man crept in softly and crouched down on the floor,
laying his head on her lap. For a while he kept silence, then he whispered
gently:
'Tell
me, dear mother, where did my eldest brother conceal his riches?'
'What
a strange question! Surely you must know,' answered she.
'No,
I have forgotten; my memory is so bad.'
'He
dug a hole under the doorstep and placed it there,' said she. And there was
another pause.
By-and-by
the Sodno asked again:
'And
where may my second brother's money be?'
'Don't
you know that either?' cried the mother in surprise.
'Oh,
yes; I did once. But since I fell upon my head I can remember nothing.'
'It
is behind the oven,' answered she. And again was silence.
'Mother,
dear mother,' said the young man at last, 'I am almost afraid to ask you; but I
really have grown so stupid of late. Where did I hide my own money?'
But
at this question the old woman flew into a passion, and vowed that if she could
find a rod she would bring his memory back to him. Luckily, no rod was within
her reach, and the Sodno managed, after a little, to coax her back into good
humour, and at length she told him that the youngest Stalo had buried his
treasure under the very place where she was sitting.
'Dear
mother,' said Lyman, who had come in unseen, and was kneeling in front of the
fire. 'Dear mother, do you know who it is you have been talking with?'
The
old woman started, but answered quietly:
'It
is a Sodno, I suppose?'
'You
have guessed right,' replied Lyma.
The
mother of the Stalos looked round for her iron cane, which she always used to
kill her victims, but it was not there, for Lyma had put it in the fire.
'Where
is my iron cane?' asked the old woman.
'There!'
answered Lyma, pointing to the flames.
The
old woman sprang forwards and seized it, but her clothes caught fire, and in a
few minutes she was burned to ashes.
So
the Sodno brothers found the treasure, and they carried it, and their sister
and the reindeer, to their own home, and were the richest men in all Lapland.
[From
Lapplandische Marchen, J. C. Poestion.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f31]
Andras
Baive
Once
upon a time there lived in Lapland a man who was so very strong and swift of
foot that nobody in his native town of Vadso could come near him if they were
running races in the summer evenings. The people of Vadso were very proud of
their champion, and thought that there was no one like him in the world, till,
by-and-by, it came to their ears that there dwelt among the mountains a Lapp,
Andras Baive by name, who was said by his friends to be even stronger and swifter
than the bailiff. Of course not a creature in Vadso believed that, and declared
that if it made the mountaineers happier to talk such nonsense, why, let them!
The
winter was long and cold, and the thoughts of the villagers were much busier
with wolves than with Andras Baive, when suddenly, on a frosty day, he made his
appearance in the little town of Vadso. The bailiff was delighted at this
chance of trying his strength, and at once went out to seek Andras and to coax
him into giving proof of his vigour. As he walked along his eyes fell upon a
big eight-oared boat that lay upon the shore, and his face shone with pleasure.
'That is the very thing,' laughed he, 'I will make him jump over that boat.'
Andras was quite ready to accept the challenge, and they soon settled the terms
of the wager. He who could jump over the boat without so much as touching it
with his heel was to be the winner, and would get a large sum of money as the
prize. So, followed by many of the villagers, the two men walked down to the
sea.
An
old fisherman was chosen to stand near the boat to watch fair play, and to hold
the stakes, and Andras, as the stranger was told to jump first. Going back to
the flag which had been stuck into the sand to mark the starting place, he ran
forward, with his head well thrown back, and cleared the boat with a mighty
bound. The lookers-on cheered him, and indeed he well deserve it; but they
waited anxiously all the same to see what the bailiff would do. On he came,
taller than Andras by several inches, but heavier of build. He too sprang high
and well, but as he came down his heel just grazed the edge of the boat. Dead
silence reigned amidst the townsfolk, but Andras only laughed and said
carelessly:
'Just
a little too short, bailiff; next time you must do better than that.'
The
bailiff turned red with anger at his rival's scornful words, and answered
quickly: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.' And turning his back
on his friends, he went sulkily home. Andras, putting the money he had earned
in his pocket, went home also.
The
following spring Andras happened to be driving his reindeer along a great fiord
to the west of Vadso. A boy who had met him hastened to tell the bailiff that
his enemy was only a few miles off; and the bailiff, disguising himself as a
Stalo, or ogre, called his son and his dog and rowed away across the fiord to
the place where the boy had met Andras.
Now
the mountaineer was lazily walking along the sands, thinking of the new hut
that he was building with the money that he had won on the day of his lucky
jump. He wandered on, his eyes fixed on the sands, so that he did not see the
bailiff drive his boat behind a rock, while he changed himself into a heap of
wreckage which floated in on the waves. A stumble over a stone recalled Andras
to himself, and looking up he beheld the mass of wreckage. 'Dear me! I may find
some use for that,' he said; and hastened down to the sea, waiting till he
could lay hold of some stray rope which might float towards him. Suddenly--he
could not have told why--a nameless fear seized upon him, and he fled away from
the shore as if for his life. As he ran he heard the sound of a pipe, such as
only ogres of the Stalo kind were wont to use; and there flashed into his mind
what the bailiff had said when they jumped the boat: 'Next time you will have
something harder to do.' So it was no wreckage after all that he had seen, but
the bailiff himself.
It
happened that in the long summer nights up in the mountain, where the sun never
set, and it was very difficult to get to sleep, Andras had spent many hours in
the study of magic, and this stood him in good stead now. The instant he heard
the Stalo music he wished himself to become the feet of a reindeer, and in this
guise he galloped like the wind for several miles. Then he stopped to take
breath and find out what his enemy was doing. Nothing he could see, but to his
ears the notes of a pipe floated over the plain, and ever, as he listened, it
drew nearer.
A
cold shiver shook Andras, and this time he wished himself the feet of a
reindeer calf. For when a reindeer calf has reached the age at which he begins
first to lose his hair he is so swift that neither beast nor bird can come near
him. A reindeer calf is the swiftest of all things living. Yes; but not so
swift as a Stalo, as Andras found out when he stopped to rest, and heard the
pipe playing!
For
a moment his heart sank, and he gave himself up for dead, till he remembered
that, not far off, were two little lakes joined together by a short though very
broad river. In the middle of the river lay a stone that was always covered by
water, except in dry seasons, and as the winter rains had been very heavy, he
felt quite sure that not even the top of it could be seen. The next minute, if
anyone had been looking that way, he would have beheld a small reindeer calf
speeding northwards, and by-and-by giving a great spring, which landed him in
the midst of the stream. But, instead of sinking to the bottom, he paused a
second to steady himself, then gave a second spring which landed him on the
further shore. He next ran on to a little hill where he saw down and began to
neigh loudly, so that the Stalo might know exactly where he was.
'Ah!
There you are,' cried the Stalo, appearing on the opposite bank; 'for a moment
I really thought I had lost you.'
'No
such luck,' answered Andras, shaking his head sorrowfully. By this time he had
taken his own shape again.
'Well,
but I don't see how I am to get to you1' said the Stalo, looking up and down.
'Jump
over, as I did,' answered Andras; 'it is quite easy.'
'But
I could not jump this river; and I don't know how you did,' replied the Stalo.
'I
should be ashamed to say such things,' exclaimed Andras. 'Do you mean to tell
me that a jump, which the weakest Lapp boy would make nothing of, is beyond
your strength?'
The
Stalo grew red and angry when he heard these words, just as Andras meant him to
do. He bounded into the air and fell straight into the river. Not that that
would have mattered, for he was a good swimmer; but Andras drew out the bow and
arrows which every Lapp carries, and took aim at him. His aim was good, but the
Stalo sprang so high into the air that the arrow flew between his feet. A
second shot, directed at his forehead, fared no better, for this time the Stalo
jumped so high to the other side that the arrow passed between his finger and
thumb. Then Andras aimed his third arrow a little over the Stalo's head, and
when he sprang up, just an instant too soon, it hit him between the ribs.
Mortally
wounded as he was, the Stalo was not yet dead, and managed to swim to the
shore. Stretching himself on the sand, he said slowly to Andras:
'Promise
that you will give me an honourable burial, and when my body is laid in the
grave go in my boat across the fiord, and take whatever you find in my house
which belongs to me. My dog you must kill, but spare my son, Andras.'
Then
he died; and Andras sailed in his boat away across the fiord and found the dog
and boy. The dog, a fierce, wicked-looking creature, he slew with one blow from
his fist, for it is well known that if a Stalo's dog licks the blood that flows
from his dead master's wounds the Stalo comes to life again. That is why no
REAL Stalo is ever seen without his dog; but the bailiff, being only half a
Stalo, had forgotten him, when he went to the little lakes in search of Andras.
Next, Andras put all the gold and jewels which he found in the boat into his
pockets, and bidding the boy get in, pushed it off from the shore, leaving the
little craft to drift as it would, while he himself ran home. With the treasure
he possessed he was able to buy a great herd of reindeer; and he soon married a
rich wife, whose parents would not have him as a son-in-law when he was poor,
and the two lived happy for ever after.
[From
Lapplandische Mahrchen, J. C. Poestion.]
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f32]
The
White Slipper
Once
upon a time there lived a king who had a daughter just fifteen years old. And
what a daughter!
Even
the mothers who had daughters of their own could not help allowing that the
princess was much more beautiful and graceful than any of them; and, as for the
fathers, if one of them ever beheld her by accident he could talk of nothing
else for a whole day afterwards.
Of
course the king, whose name was Balancin, was the complete slave of his little
girl from the moment he lifted her from the arms of her dead mother; indeed, he
did not seem to know that there was anyone else in the world to love.
Now
Diamantina, for that was her name, did not reach her fifteenth birthday without
proposals for marriage from every country under heaven; but be the suitor who
he might, the king always said him nay.
Behind
the palace a large garden stretched away to the foot of some hills, and more
than one river flowed through. Hither the princess would come each evening
towards sunset, attended by her ladies, and gather herself the flowers that
were to adorn her rooms. She also brought with her a pair of scissors to cut
off the dead blooms, and a basket to put them in, so that when the sun rose
next morning he might see nothing unsightly. When she had finished this task
she would take a walk through the town, so that the poor people might have a
chance of speaking with her, and telling her of their troubles; and then she
would seek out her father, and together they would consult over the best means
of giving help to those who needed it.
But
what has all this to do with the White Slipper? my readers will ask.
Have
patience, and you will see.
Next
to his daughter, Balancin loved hunting, and it was his custom to spend several
mornings every week chasing the boars which abounded in the mountains a few
miles from the city. One day, rushing downhill as fast as he could go, he put
his foot into a hole and fell, rolling into a rocky pit of brambles. The king's
wounds were not very severe, but his face and hands were cut and torn, while
his feet were in a worse plight still, for, instead of proper hunting boots, he
only wore sandals, to enable him to run more swiftly.
In
a few days the king was as well as ever, and the signs of the scratches were
almost gone; but one foot still remained very sore, where a thorn had pierced
deeply and had festered. The best doctors in the kingdom treated it with all
their skill; they bathed, and poulticed, and bandaged, but it was in vain. The
foot only grew worse and worse, and became daily more swollen and painful.
After
everyone had tried his own particular cure, and found it fail, there came news
of a wonderful doctor in some distant land who had healed the most astonishing
diseases. On inquiring, it was found that he never left the walls of his own
city, and expected his patients to come to see him; but, by dint of offering a
large sum of money, the king persuaded the famous physician to undertake the
journey to his own court.
On
his arrival the doctor was led at once into the king's presence, and made a
careful examination of his foot.
'Alas!
your majesty,' he said, when he had finished, 'the wound is beyond the power of
man to heal; but though I cannot cure it, I can at least deaden the pain, and
enable you to walk without so much suffering.'
'Oh,
if you can only do that,' cried the king, 'I shall be grateful to you for life!
Give your own orders; they shall be obeyed.'
'Then
let your majesty bid the royal shoemaker make you a shoe of goat-skin very
loose and comfortable, while I prepare a varnish to paint over it of which I
alone have the secret!' So saying, the doctor bowed himself out, leaving the
king more cheerful and hopeful than he had been for long.
The
days passed very slowly with him during the making of the shoe and the
preparation of the varnish, but on the eighth morning the physician appeared,
bringing with him the shoe in a case. He drew it out to slip on the king's
foot, and over the goat-skin he had rubbed a polish so white that the snow
itself was not more dazzling.
'While
you wear this shoe you will not feel the slightest pain,' said the doctor. 'For
the balsam with which I have rubbed it inside and out has, besides its healing
balm, the quality of strengthening the material it touches, so that, even were
your majesty to live a thousand years, you would find the slipper just as fresh
at the end of that time as it is now.'
The
king was so eager to put it on that he hardly gave the physician time to
finish. He snatched it from the case and thrust his foot into it, nearly
weeping for joy when he found he could walk and run as easily as any beggar
boy.
'What
can I give you?' he cried, holding out both hands to the man who had worked
this wonder. 'Stay with me, and I will heap on you riches greater than ever you
dreamed of.' But the doctor said he would accept nothing more than had been
agreed on, and must return at once to his own country, where many sick people
were awaiting him. So king Balancin had to content himself with ordering the
physician to be treated with royal honours, and desiring that an escort should
attend him on his journey home.
For
two years everything went smoothly at court, and to king Balancin and his
daughter the sun no sooner rose than it seemed time for it to set. Now, the
king's birthday fell in the month of June, and as the weather happened to be
unusually fine, he told the princess to celebrate it in any way that pleased
her. Diamantina was very fond of being on the river, and she was delighted at
this chance of delighting her tastes. She would have a merry-making such as
never had been seen before, and in the evening, when they were tired of sailing
and rowing, there should be music and dancing, plays and fireworks. At the very
end, before the people went home, every poor person should be given a loaf of
bread and every girl who was to be married within the year a new dress.
The
great day appeared to Diamantina to be long in coming, but, like other days, it
came at last. Before the sun was fairly up in the heavens the princess, too
full of excitement to stay in the palace, was walking about the streets so
covered with precious stones that you had to shade your eyes before you could
look at her. By-and-by a trumpet sounded, and she hurried home, only to appear
again in a few moments walking by the side of her father down to the river. Here
a splendid barge was waiting for them, and from it they watched all sorts of
races and feats of swimming and diving. When these were over the barge
proceeded up the river to the field where the dancing and concerts were to take
place, and after the prizes had been given away to the winners, and the loaves
and the dresses had been distributed by the princess, they bade farewell to
their guests, and turned to step into the barge which was to carry them back to
the palace.
Then
a dreadful thing happened. As the king stepped on board the boat one of the
sandals of the white slipper, which had got loose, caught in a nail that was
sticking out, and caused the king to stumble. The pain was great, and
unconsciously he turned and shook his foot, so that the sandals gave way, and
in a moment the precious shoe was in the river.
It
had all occurred so quickly that nobody had noticed the loss of the slipper,
not even the princess, whom the king's cries speedily brought to his side.
'What
is the matter, dear father?' asked she. But the king could not tell her; and
only managed to gasp out: 'My shoe! my shoe!' While the sailors stood round
staring, thinking that his majesty had suddenly gone mad.
Seeing
her father's eyes fixed on the stream, Diamantina looked hastily in that
direction. There, dancing on the current, was the point of something white,
which became more and more distant the longer they watched it. The king could
bear the sight no more, and, besides, now that the healing ointment in the shoe
had been removed the pain in his foot was as bad as ever; he gave a sudden cry,
staggered, and fell over the bulwarks into the water.
In
an instant the river was covered with bobbing heads all swimming their fastest
towards the king, who had been carried far down by the swift current. At length
one swimmer, stronger than the rest, seized hold of his tunic, and drew him to
the bank, where a thousand eager hands were ready to haul him out. He was
carried, unconscious, to the side of his daughter, who had fainted with terror
on seeing her father disappear below the surface, and together they were place
in a coach and driven to the palace, where the best doctors in the city were
awaiting their arrival.
In
a few hours the princess was as well as ever; but the pain, the wetting, and
the shock of the accident, all told severely on the king, and for three days he
lay in a high fever. Meanwhile, his daughter, herself nearly mad with grief,
gave orders that the white slipper should be sought for far and wide; and so it
was, but even the cleverest divers could find no trace of it at the bottom of
the river.
When
it became clear that the slipper must have been carried out to sea by the
current, Diamantina turned her thoughts elsewhere, and sent messengers in
search of the doctor who had brought relief to her father, begging him to make
another slipper as fast as possible, to supply the place of the one which was
lost. But the messengers returned with the sad news that the doctor had died
some weeks before, and, what was worse, his secret had died with him.
In
his weakness this intelligence had such an effect on the king that the
physicians feared he would become as ill as before. He could hardly be
persuaded to touch food, and all night long he lay moaning, partly with pain,
and partly over his own folly in not having begged the doctor to make him
several dozens of white slippers, so that in case of accidents he might always
have one to put on. However, by-and-by he saw that it was no use weeping and
wailing, and commanded that they should search for his lost treasure more
diligently than ever.
What
a sight the river banks presented in those days! It seemed as if all the people
in the country were gathered on them. But this second search was no more
fortunate than the first, and at last the king issued a proclamation that
whoever found the missing slipper should be made heir to the crown, and should
marry the princess.
Now
many daughters would have rebelled at being disposed of in the manner; and it
must be admitted that Diamantina's heart sank when she heard what the king had
done. Still, she loved her father so much that she desired his comfort more
than anything else in the world, so she said nothing, and only bowed her head.
Of
course the result of the proclamation was that the river banks became more
crowded than before; for all the princess's suitors from distant lands flocked
to the spot, each hoping that he might be the lucky finder. Many times a
shining stone at the bottom of the stream was taken for the slipper itself, and
every evening saw a band of dripping downcast men returning homewards. But one
youth always lingered longer than the rest, and night would still see him
engaged in the search, though his clothes stuck to his skin and his teeth
chattered.
One
day, when the king was lying on his bed racked with pain, he heard the noise of
a scuffle going on in his antechamber, and rang a golden bell that stood by his
side to summon one of his servants.
'Sire,'
answered the attendant, when the king inquired what was the matter, 'the noise
you heard was caused by a young man from the town, who has had the impudence to
come here to ask if he may measure your majesty's foot, so as to make you
another slipper in place of the lost one.'
'And
what have you done to the youth?' said the king.
'The
servants pushed him out of the palace, and, added a few blows to teach him not
to be insolent,' replied the man.
'Then
they did very ill,' answered the king, with a frown. 'He came here from
kindness, and there was no reason to maltreat him.'
'Oh,
my lord, he had the audacity to wish to touch your majesty's sacred person--he,
a good-for-nothing boy, a mere shoemaker's apprentice, perhaps! And even if he
could make shoes to perfection they would be no use without the soothing
balsam.'
The
king remained silent for a few moments, then he said:
'Never
mind. Go and fetch the youth and bring him to me. I would gladly try any remedy
that may relieve my pain.'
So,
soon afterwards, the youth, who had not gone far from the palace, was caught
and ushered into the king's presence.
He
was tall and handsome and, though he professed to make shoes, his manners were
good and modest, and he bowed low as he begged the king not only to allow him
to take the measure of his foot, but also to suffer him to place a healing
plaster over the wound.
Balancin
was pleased with the young man's voice and appearance, and thought that he
looked as if he knew what he was doing. So he stretched out his bad foot which
the youth examined with great attention, and then gently laid on the plaster.
Very
shortly the ointment began to soothe the sharp pain, and the king, whose
confidence increased every moment, begged the young man to tell him his name.
'I
have no parents; they died when I was six, sire,' replied the youth, modestly.
'Everyone in the town calls me Gilguerillo, [*1] because, when I was little, I
went singing through the world in spite of my misfortunes. Luckily for me I was
born to be happy.'
'And
you really think you can cure me?' asked the king.
'Completely,
my lord,' answered Gilguerillo.
'And
how long do you think it will take?'
'It
is not an easy task; but I will try to finish it in a fortnight,' replied the
youth.
A
fortnight seemed to the king a long time to make one slipper. But he only said:
'Do
you need anything to help you?'
'Only
a good horse, if your majesty will be kind enough to give me one,' answered
Gilguerillo. And the reply was so unexpected that the courtiers could hardly
restrain their smiles, while the king stared silently.
'You
shall have the horse,' he said at last, 'and I shall expect you back in a
fortnight. If you fulfil your promise you know your reward; if not, I will have
you flogged for your impudence.'
Gilguerillo
bowed, and turned to leave the palace, followed by the jeers and scoffs of
everyone he met. But he paid no heed, for he had got what he wanted.
He
waited in front of the gates till a magnificent horse was led up to him, and
vaulting into the saddle with an ease which rather surprised the attendant,
rode quickly out of the town amidst the jests of the assembled crowd, who had
heard of his audacious proposal. And while he is on his way let us pause for a
moment and tell who he is.
Both
father and mother had died before the boy was six years old; and he had lived
for many years with his uncle, whose life had been passed in the study of
chemistry. He could leave no money to his nephew, as he had a son of his own;
but he taught him all he knew, and at his dead Gilguerillo entered an office,
where he worked for many hours daily. In his spare time, instead of playing
with the other boys, he passed hours poring over books, and because he was
timid and liked to be alone he was held by everyone to be a little mad.
Therefore, when it became known that he had promised to cure the king's foot,
and had ridden away--no one knew where--a roar of laughter and mockery rang
through the town, and jeers and scoffing words were sent after him.
But
if they had only known what were Gilguerillo's thoughts they would have thought
him madder than ever.
The
real truth was that, on the morning when the princess had walked through the
streets before making holiday on the river Gilguerillo had seen her from his
window, and had straightway fallen in love with her. Of course he felt quite
hopeless. It was absurd to imagine that the apothecary's nephew could ever
marry the king's daughter; so he did his best to forget her, and study harder
than before, till the royal proclamation suddenly filled him with hope. When he
was free he no longer spent the precious moments poring over books, but, like
the rest, he might have been seen wandering along the banks of the river, or
diving into the stream after something that lay glistening in the clear water,
but which turned out to be a white pebble or a bit of glass.
And
at the end he understood that it was not by the river that he would win the
princess; and, turning to his books for comfort, he studied harder than ever.
There
is an old proverb which says: 'Everything comes to him who knows how to wait.'
It is not all men who know hot to wait, any more than it is all men who can
learn by experience; but Gilguerillo was one of the few and instead of thinking
his life wasted because he could not have the thing he wanted most, he tried to
busy himself in other directions. So, one day, when he expected it least, his
reward came to him.
He
happened to be reading a book many hundreds of years old, which told of
remedies for all kinds of diseases. Most of them, he knew, were merely invented
by old women, who sought to prove themselves wiser than other people; but at
length he came to something which caused him to sit up straight in his chair,
and made his eyes brighten. This was the description of a balsam-- which would
cure every kind of sore or wound--distilled from a plant only to be found in a
country so distant that it would take a man on foot two months to go and come
back again.
When
I say that the book declared that the balsam could heal every sort of sore or
wound, there were a few against which it was powerless, and it gave certain
signs by which these might be known. This was the reason why Gilguerillo
demanded to see the king's foot before he would undertake to cure it; and to
obtain admittance he gave out that he was a shoemaker. However, the dreaded
signs were absent, and his heart bounded at the thought that the princess was
within his reach.
Perhaps
she was; but a great deal had to be accomplished yet, and he had allowed himself
a very short time in which to do it.
He
spared his horse only so much as was needful, yet it took him six days to reach
the spot where the plant grew. A thick wood lay in front of him, and, fastening
the bridle tightly to a tree, he flung himself on his hands and knees and began
to hunt for the treasure. Many time he fancied it was close to him, and many
times it turned out to be something else; but, at last, when light was fading,
and he had almost given up hope, he came upon a large bed of the plant, right
under his feet! Trembling with joy, he picked every scrap he could see, and
placed it in his wallet. Then, mounting his horse, he galloped quickly back
towards the city.
It
was night when he entered the gates, and the fifteen days allotted were not up
till the next day. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his body ached with the
long strain, but, without pausing to rest, he kindled a fire on is hearth, and
quickly filling a pot with water, threw in the herbs and left them to boil.
After that he lay down and slept soundly.
The
sun was shining when he awoke, and he jumped up and ran to the pot. The plant
had disappeared and in its stead was a thick syrup, just as the book had said
there would be. He lifted the syrup out with a spoon, and after spreading it in
the sun till it was partly dry, poured it into a small flask of crystal. He
next washed himself thoroughly, and dressed himself, in his best clothes, and
putting the flask in his pocket, set out for the palace, and begged to see the
king without delay.
Now
Balancin, whose foot had been much less painful since Gilguerillo had wrapped
it in the plaster, was counting the days to the young man's return; and when he
was told Gilguerillo was there, ordered him to be admitted at once. As he
entered, the king raised himself eagerly on his pillows, but his face fell when
he saw no signs of a slipper.
'You
have failed, then?' he said, throwing up his hands in despair.
'I
hope not, your majesty; I think not,' answered the youth. And drawing the flask
from his pocket, he poured two or three drops on the wound.
'Repeat
this for three nights, and you will find yourself cured,' said he. And before
the king had time to thank him he had bowed himself out.
Of
course the news soon spread through the city, and men and women never tired of
calling Gilguerillo an impostor, and prophesying that the end of the three days
would see him in prison, if not on the scaffold. But Gilguerillo paid no heed
to their hard words, and no more did the king, who took care that no hand but
his own should put on the healing balsam.
On
the fourth morning the king awoke and instantly stretched out his wounded foot
that he might prove the truth or falsehood of Gilguerillo's remedy. The wound
was certainly cured on that side, but how about the other? Yes, that was cured
also; and not even a scar was left to show where it had been!
Was
ever any king so happy as Balancin when he satisfied himself of this?
Lightly
as a deer he jumped from his bed, and began to turn head over heels and to
perform all sorts of antics, so as to make sure that his foot was in truth as
well as it looked. And when he was quite tired he sent for his daughter, and
bade the courtiers bring the lucky young man to his room.
'He
is really young and handsome,' said the princess to herself, heaving a sigh of
relief that it was not some dreadful old man who had healed her father; and
while the king was announcing to his courtiers the wonderful cure that had been
made, Diamantina was thinking that if Gilguerillo looked so well in his common
dress, how much improved by the splendid garments of a king' son. However, she
held her peace, and only watched with amusement when the courtiers, knowing
there was no help for it, did homage and obeisance to the chemist's boy.
Then
they brought to Gilguerillo a magnificent tunic of green velvet bordered with
gold, and a cap with three white plumes stuck in it; and at the sight of him so
arrayed, the princess fell in love with him in a moment. The wedding was fixed to
take place in eight days, and at the ball afterwards nobody danced so long or
so lightly as king Balancin.
[From
Capullos de Rosa, por D. Enrique Ceballos Quintana.]
Footnotes
^1
Linnet.
The
Orange Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1906], at sacred-texts.com
[f33]
The
Magic Book
There
was once an old couple named Peder and Kirsten who had an only son called Hans.
From the time he was a little boy he had been told that on his sixteenth
birthday he must go out into the world and serve his apprenticeship. So, one
fine summer morning, he started off to seek his fortune with nothing but the
clothes he wore on his back.
For
many hours he trudged on merrily, now and then stopping to drink from some
clear spring or to pick some ripe fruit from a tree. The little wild creatures
peeped at him from beneath the bushes, and he nodded and smiled, and wished
them 'Good-morning.' After he had been walking for some time he met an old
white-bearded man who was coming along the footpath. The boy would not step
aside, and the man was determined not to do so either, so they ran against one
another with a bump.
'It
seems to me,' said the old fellow, 'that a boy should give way to an old man.'
'The
path is for me as well as for you,' answered young Hans saucily, for he had
never been taught politeness.
'Well,
that's true enough,' answered the other mildly. 'And where are you going?'
'I
am going into service,' said Hans.
'Then
you can come and serve me,' replied the man.
Well,
Hans could do that; but what would his wages be?
'Two
pounds a year, and nothing to do but keep some rooms clean,' said the
new-comer.
This
seemed to Hans to be easy enough; so he agreed to enter the old man's service,
and they set out together. On their way they crossed a deep valley and came to
a mountain, where the man opened a trapdoor, and bidding Hans follow him, he
crept in and began to go down a long flight of steps. When they got to the
bottom Hans saw a large number of rooms lit by many lamps and full of beautiful
things. While he was looking round the old man said to him:
'Now
you know what you have to do. You must keep these rooms clean, and strew sand
on the floor every day. Here is a table where you will always find food and
drink, and there is your bed. You see there are a great many suits of clothes
hanging on the wall, and you may wear any you please; but remember that you are
never to open this locked door. If you do ill will befall you. Farewell, for I
am going away again and cannot tell when I may return.
No
sooner had the old man disappeared than Hans sat down to a good meal, and after
that went to bed and slept until the morning. At first he could not remember
what had happened to him, but by-and-by he jumped up and went into all the
rooms, which he examined carefully.
'How
foolish to bid me to put sand on the floors,' he thought, 'when there is nobody
here by myself! I shall do nothing of the sort.' And so he shut the doors
quickly, and only cleaned and set in order his own room. And after the first
few days he felt that that was unnecessary too, because no one came there to
see if the rooms where clean or not. At last he did no work at all, but just
sat and wondered what was behind the locked door, till he determined to go and
look for himself.
The
key turned easily in the lock. Hans entered, half frightened at what he was
doing, and the first thing he beheld was a heap of bones. That was not very
cheerful; and he was just going out again when his eye fell on a shelf of
books. Here was a good way of passing the time, he thought, for he was fond of
reading, and he took one of the books from the shelf. It was all about magic,
and told you how you could change yourself into anything in the world you
liked. Could anything be more exciting or more useful? So he put it in his
pocket, and ran quickly away out of the mountain by a little door which had
been left open.
When
he got home his parents asked him what he had been doing and where he had got
the fine clothes he wore.
'Oh,
I earned them myself,' answered he.
'You
never earned them in this short time,' said his father. 'Be off with you; I
won't keep you here. I will have no thieves in my house!'
'Well
I only came to help you,' replied the boy sulkily. 'Now I'll be off, as you
wish; but to-morrow morning when you rise you will see a great dog at the door.
Do not drive it away, but take it to the castle and sell it to the duke, and
they will give you ten dollars for it; only you must bring the strap you lead
it with, back to the house.'
Sure
enough the next day the dog was standing at the door waiting to be let in. The
old man was rather afraid of getting into trouble, but his wife urged him to
sell the dog as the boy had bidden him, so he took it up to the castle and sold
it to the duke for ten dollars. But he did not forget to take off the strap
with which he had led the animal, and to carry it home. When he got there old
Kirsten met him at the door.
'Well,
Peder, and have you sold the dog?' asked she.
'Yes,
Kirsten; and I have brought back ten dollars, as the boy told us,' answered
Peder.
'Ay!
but that's fine!' said his wife. 'Now you see what one gets by doing as one is
bid; if it had not been for me you would have driven the dog away again, and we
should have lost the money. After all, I always know what is best.'
'Nonsense!'
said her husband; 'women always think they know best. I should have sold the
dog just the same whatever you had told me. Put the money away in a safe place,
and don't talk so much.'
The
next day Hans came again; but though everything had turned out as he had
foretold, he found that his father was still not quite satisfied.
'Be
off with you!' said he, 'you'll get us into trouble.'
'I
haven't helped you enough yet,' replied the boy. 'To-morrow there will come a
great fat cow, as big as the house. Take it to the king's palace and you'll get
as much as a thousand dollars for it. Only you must unfasten the halter you
lead it with and bring it back, and don't return by the high road, but through
the forest.'
The
next day, when the couple rose, they saw an enormous head looking in at their
bedroom window, and behind it was a cow which was nearly as big as their hut.
Kirsten was wild with joy to think of the money the cow would bring them.
'But
how are you going to put the rope over her head?' asked she.
'Wait
and you'll see, mother,' answered her husband. Then Peder took the ladder that
led up to the hayloft and set it against the cow's neck, and he climbed up and
slipped the rope over her head. When he had made sure that the noose was fast
they started for the palace, and met the king himself walking in his grounds.
'I
heard that the princess was going to be married,' said Peder, 'so I've brought
your majesty a cow which is bigger than any cow that was ever seen. Will your
majesty deign to buy it?'
The
king had, in truth, never seen so large a beast, and he willingly paid the
thousand dollars, which was the price demanded; but Peder remembered to take
off the halter before he left. After he was gone the king sent for the butcher
and told him to kill the animal for the wedding feast. The butcher got ready
his pole-axe; but just as he was going to strike, the cow changed itself into a
dove and flew away, and the butcher stood staring after it as if he were turned
to stone. However, as the dove could not be found, he was obliged to tell the
king what had happened, and the king in his turn despatched messengers to
capture the old man and bring him back. But Peder was safe in the woods, and could
not be found. When at last he felt the danger was over, and he might go home,
Kirsten nearly fainted with joy at the sight of all the money he brought with
him.
'Now
that we are rich people we must build a bigger house,' cried she; and was vexed
to find that Peder only shook his head and said: 'No; if they did that people
would talk, and say they had got their wealth by ill-doing.'
A
few mornings later Hans came again.
'Be
off before you get us into trouble,' said his father. 'So far the money has
come right enough, but I don't trust it.'
'Don't
worry over that, father,' said Hans. 'To-morrow you will find a horse outside
by the gate. Ride it to market and you will get a thousand dollars for it. Only
don't forget to loosen the bridle when you sell it.'
Well,
in the morning there was the horse; Kirsten had never seen so find an animal.
'Take care it doesn't hurt you, Peder,' said she.
'Nonsense,
wife,' answered he crossly. 'When I was a lad I lived with horses, and could
ride anything for twenty miles round.' But that was not quite the truth, for he
had never mounted a horse in his life.
Still,
the animal was quiet enough, so Peder got safely to market on its back. There
he met a man who offered nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars for it, but Peder
would take nothing less than a thousand. At last there came an old,
grey-bearded man who looked at the horse and agreed to buy it; but the moment
he touched it the horse began to kick and plunge. 'I must take the bridle off,'
said Peder. 'It is not to be sold with the animal as is usually the case.'
'I'll
give you a hundred dollars for the bridle,' said the old man, taking out his
purse.
'No,
I can't sell it,' replied Hans's father.
'Five
hundred dollars!'
'No.'
'A
thousand!'
At
this splendid offer Peder's prudence gave way; it was a shame to let so much
money go. So he agreed to accept it. But he could hardly hold the horse, it
became so unmanageable. So he gave the animal in charge to the old man, and
went home with his two thousand dollars.
Kirsten,
of course, was delighted at this new piece of good fortune, and insisted that
the new house should be built and land bought. This time Peder consented, and
soon they had quite a fine farm.
Meanwhile
the old man rode off on his new purchase, and when he came to a smithy he asked
the smith to forge shoes for the horse. The smith proposed that they should
first have a drink together, and the horse was tied up by the spring whilst
they went indoors. The day was hot, and both men were thirsty, and, besides,
they had much to say; and so the hours slipped by and found them still talking.
Then the servant girl came out to fetch a pail of water, and, being a
kind-hearted lass, she gave some to the horse to drink. What was her surprise
when the animal said to her: 'Take off my bridle and you will save my life.'
'I
dare not,' said she; 'your master will be so angry.'
'He
cannot hurt you,' answered the horse, 'and you will save my life.'
At
that she took off the bridle; but nearly fainted with astonishment when the
horse turned into a dove and flew away just as the old man came out of the
house. Directly he saw what had happened he changed himself into a hawk and
flew after the dove. Over the woods and fields they went, and at length they
reached a king's palace surrounded by beautiful gardens. The princess was
walking with her attendants in the rose garden when the dove turned itself into
a gold ring and fell at her feet.
'Why,
here is a ring!' she cried, 'where could it have come from?' And picking it up
she put it on her finger. As she did so the hill-man lost his power over
Hans--for of course you understand that it was he who had been the dog, the
cow, the horse and the dove.
'Well,
that is really strange,' said the princess. 'It fits me as though it had been
made for me!'
Just
at that moment up came the king.
'Look
at what I have found!' cried his daughter.
'Well,
that is not worth much, my dear,' said he. 'Besides, you have rings enough, I
should think.'
'Never
mind, I like it,' replied the princess.
But
as soon as she was alone, to her amazement, the ring suddenly left her finger
and became a man. You can imagine how frightened she was, as, indeed, anybody
would have been; but in an instant the man became a ring again, and then turned
back to a man, and so it went on for some time until she began to get used to
these sudden changes.
'I
am sorry I frightened you,' said Hans, when he thought he could safely speak to
the princess without making her scream. 'I took refuge with you because the old
hill-man, whom I have offended, was trying to kill me, and here I am safe.'
'You
had better stay here then,' said the princess. So Hans stayed, and he and she
became good friends; though, of course, he only became a man when no one else
was present.
This
was all very well; but, one day, as they were talking together, the king
happened to enter the room, and although Hans quickly changed himself into a
ring again it was too late.
The
king was terribly angry.
'So
this is why you have refused to marry all the kings and princes who have sought
your hand?' he cried.
And,
without waiting for her to speak, he commanded that his daughter should be
walled up in the summer-house and starved to death with her lover.
That
evening the poor princess, still wearing her ring, was put into the
summer-house with enough food to last for three days, and the door was bricked
up. But at the end of a week or two the king thought it was time to give her a
grand funeral, in spite of her bad behaviour, and he had the summer-house
opened. He could hardly believe his eyes when he found that the princess was
not there, nor Hans either. Instead, there lay at his feet a large hole, big
enough for two people to pass through.
Now
what had happened was this.
When
the princess and Hans had given up hope, and cast themselves down on the ground
to die, they fell down this hole, and right through the earth as well, and at
last they tumbled into a castle built of pure gold at the other side of the
world, and there they lived happily. But of this, of course, the king knew
nothing.
'Will
anyone go down and see where the passage leads to?' he asked, turning to his
guards and courtiers. 'I will reward splendidly the man who is brave enough to
explore it.'
For
a long time nobody answered. The hole was dark and deep, and if it had a bottom
no one could see it. At length a soldier, who was a careless sort of fellow,
offered himself for the service, and cautiously lowered himself into the darkness.
But in a moment he, too, fell down, down, down. Was he going to fall for ever,
he wondered! Oh, how thankful he was in the end to reach the castle, and to
meet the princess and Hans, looking quite well and not at all as if they had
been starved. They began to talk, and the soldier told them that the king was
very sorry for the way he had treated his daughter, and wished day and night
that he could have her back again.
Then
they all took ship and sailed home, and when they came to the princess's country,
Hans disguised himself as the sovereign of a neighbouring kingdom, and went up
to the palace alone. He was given a hearty welcome by the king, who prided
himself on his hospitality, and a banquet was commanded in his honour. That
evening, whilst they sat drinking their wine, Hans said to the king:
'I
have heard the fame of your majesty's wisdom, and I have travelled from far to
ask your counsel. A man in my country has buried his daughter alive because she
loved a youth who was born a peasant. How shall I punish this unnatural father,
for it is left to me to give judgment?'
The
king, who was still truly grieved for his daughter's loss, answered quickly:
'Burn
him alive, and strew his ashes all over the kingdom.'
Hans
looked at him steadily for a moment, and then threw off his disguise.
'You
are the man,' said he; 'and I am he who loved your daughter, and became a gold
ring on her finger. She is safe, and waiting not far from here; but you have
pronounced judgment on yourself.'
Then
the king fell on his knees and begged for mercy; and as he had in other
respects been a good father, they forgave him. The wedding of Hans and the
princess was celebrated with great festivities which lasted a month. As for the
hill-man he intended to be present; but whilst he was walking along a street
which led to the palace a loose stone fell on his head and killed him. So Hans
and the princess lived in peace and happiness all their days, and when the old
king died they reigned instead of him.
[From
AEventyr fra Zylland samlede og optegnede af Tang Kristensen. Translated from
the Danish by Mrs. Skavgaard-Pedersen.]
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