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                    THE
             OLIVE FAIRY BOOK

                 EDITED BY
                ANDREW LANG


   _WITH EIGHT COLOURED PLATES AND WITH
   NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_


          LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
      91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
        LONDON, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
                    1907




             _Copyright, 1907_
        BY LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

           _All rights reserved_

 _The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._




    THE FAIRY BOOK SERIES
    EDITED BY ANDREW LANG

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  [Illustration: THE BLUE PARROT.
      [_See p. 16._]




PREFACE


Many years ago my friend and publisher, Mr. Charles Longman, presented
me with _Le Cabinet des Fées_ ('The Fairy Cabinet'). This work almost
requires a swinging bookcase for its accommodation, like the
_Encyclopædia Britannica_, and in a revolving bookcase I bestowed the
volumes. Circumstances of an intimately domestic character, 'not
wholly unconnected,' as Mr. Micawber might have said, with the
narrowness of my study (in which it is impossible to 'swing a cat'),
prevent the revolving bookcase from revolving at this moment. I can
see, however, that the Fairy Cabinet contains at least forty volumes,
and I think there are about sixty in all. This great plenitude of
fairy tales from all quarters presents legends of fairies, witches,
genii or Djinn, monsters, dragons, wicked step-mothers, princesses,
pretty or plain, princes lucky or unlucky, giants, dwarfs, and
enchantments. The stories begin with those which children like
best--the old _Blue Beard_, _Puss in Boots_, _Hop o' my Thumb_,
_Little Red Riding Hood_, _The Sleeping Beauty_, and _Toads and
Pearls_. These were first collected, written, and printed at Paris in
1697. The author was Monsieur Charles Perrault, a famous personage in
a great _perruque_, who in his day wrote large volumes now unread. He
never dreamed that he was to be remembered mainly by the shabby little
volume with the tiny headpiece pictures--how unlike the fairy way of
drawing by Mr. Ford, said to be known as 'Over-the-wall Ford' among
authors who play cricket, because of the force with which he swipes!
Perrault picked up the rustic tales which the nurse of his little boy
used to tell, and he told them again in his own courtly, witty way.
They do not seem to have been translated into English until nearly
thirty years later, when they were published in English, with the
French on the opposite page, by a Mr. Pote, a bookseller at Eton.
Probably the younger Eton boys learned as much French as they
condescended to acquire from these fairy tales, which are certainly
more amusing than the _Télémaque_ of Messire François de Salignac de
la Motte-Fénelon, tutor of the children of France, Archbishop Duke of
Cambrai, and Prince of the Holy Roman Empire.

The success of Perrault was based on the pleasure which the court of
Louis XIV. took in fairy tales; we know that they were told among
Court ladies, from a letter of Madame de Sévigné. Naturally, Perrault
had imitators, such as Madame d'Aulnoy, a wandering lady of more wit
than reputation. To her we owe _Beauty and the Beast_ and _The Yellow
Dwarf_. Anthony Hamilton tried his hand with _The Ram_, a story too
prolix and confused, best remembered for the remark, 'Ram, my friend,
begin at the beginning!' Indeed, the narrative style of the Ram is
lacking in lucidity! Then came _The Arabian Nights_, translated by
Monsieur Galland. Nobody has translated _The Arabian Nights_ so well
as Galland. His is the reverse of a scientific rendering, but it is as
pleasantly readable as the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ would be if Alexandre
Dumas had kept his promise to translate Homer. Galland omitted the
verses and a great number of passages which nobody would miss, though
the anthropologist is supposed to find them valuable and instructive
in later scientific translations which do not amuse. Later, Persian
Tales, Tales of the Sea, and original inventions, more or less on the
fairy model, were composed by industrious men and women. They are far
too long--are novels, indeed, and would please no child or mature
person of taste. All these were collected in the vast Fairy Cabinet,
published in 1786, just before the Revolution. Probably their attempt
to be simple charmed a society which was extremely artificial, talked
about 'the simple life' and the 'state of nature,' and was on the eve
of a revolution in which human nature revealed her most primitive
traits in orgies of blood.

That was the end of the Court and of the Court Fairy Tales, and just
when they were demolished, learned men like the Grimms and Sir Walter
Scott began to take an interest in the popular tales of peasants and
savages all the world over. All the world over the tales were found to
be essentially the same things. _Cinderella_ is everywhere; a whole
book has been written on _Cinderella_ by Miss Cox, and a very good
book it is, but not interesting to children. For them the best of the
collections of foreign fairy tales are the German stories by the
Grimms, the _Tales from the Norse_, by Sir G. W. Dasent, (which some
foolish 'grown-ups' denounced as 'improper'), and Miss Frere's Indian
stories. There are hundreds of collections of savage and peasant fairy
tales, but, though many of these are most interesting, especially
Bishop Callaway's Zulu stories (with the Zulu versions), these do not
come in the way of parents and uncles, and therefore do not come in
the way of children. It is my wish that children should be allowed to
choose their own books. Let their friends give them the money and turn
them loose in the book shops! They know their own tastes, and if the
children are born bookish, while their dear parents are the reverse,
(and this does occur!), then the children make the better choice. They
are unaffected in their selections; some want Shakespeares of their
own, and some prefer a volume entitled _Buster Brown_. A few--alas,
how few!--are fond of poetry; a still smaller number are fond of
history. 'We know that there are no fairies, but history stories are
_true_!' say these little innocents. I am not so sure that there are
no fairies, and I am only too well aware that the best 'history
stories' are not true.

What children do love is ghost stories. 'Tell us a ghost story!' they
cry, and I am able to meet the demand, with which I am in sincere
sympathy. Only strong control prevents me from telling the last true
ghost story which I heard yesterday. It would suit children
excellently well. 'The Grey Ghost Story Book' would be a favourite. At
a very early age I read a number of advertisements of books, and wept
because I could not buy dozens of them, and somebody gave me a book on
Botany! It looked all right, nicely bound in green cloth, but within
it was full of all manner of tediousness.

In our Fairy Cabinet, which cannot extend to sixty volumes, we have
aimed at pleasing children, not 'grown-ups,' at whom the old French
writers directed their romances, but have hunted for fairy tales in
all quarters, not in Europe alone. In this volume we open, thanks to
Dr. Ignaz Künos, with a story from the Turks. 'Little King Loc' is an
original invention by M. Anatole France, which he very kindly
permitted Mrs. Lang to adapt from _L'Abeille_.

Major Campbell, as previously, tells tales which he collected among
the natives of India. But the sources are usually named at the end of
each story, and when they are not named children will not miss them.
Mrs. Lang, except in cases mentioned, has translated and adapted to
the conditions of young readers the bulk of the collection, and Mrs.
Skovgaard-Pedersen has done 'The Green Knight' from the Danish. I must
especially thank Monsieur Macler for permitting us to use some of his
_Contes Arméniens_ (Paris: Ernest Leroux, Editeur).




_CONTENTS_


                                                                  PAGE
    _Madschun_                                                       1

    _The Blue Parrot_                                                9

    _Geirlaug the King's Daughter_                                  27

    _The Story of Little King Loc_                                  43

    '_A Long-bow Story_'                                            64

    _Jackal or Tiger?_                                              71

    _The Comb and the Collar_                                       87

    _The Thanksgiving of the Wazir_                                103

    _Samba the Coward_                                             108

    _Kupti and Imani_                                              119

    _The Strange Adventures of Little Maia_                        131

    _Diamond cut Diamond_                                          144

    _The Green Knight_                                             152

    _The Five Wise Words of the Guru_                              167

    _The Golden-headed Fish_                                       178

    _Dorani_                                                       188

    _The Satin Surgeon_                                            198

    _The Billy Goat and the King_                                  211

    _The Story of Zoulvisia_                                       216

    _Grasp all, Lose all_                                          234

    _The Fate of the Turtle_                                       242

    _The Snake Prince_                                             247

    _The Prince and Princess in the Forest_                        256

    _The Clever Weaver_                                            276

    _The Boy who found Fear at last_                               279

    _He Wins who Waits_                                            289

    _The Steel Cane_                                               301

    _The Punishment of the Fairy Gangana_                          305

    _The Silent Princess_                                          318




_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_


_COLOURED PLATES_

    _The Blue Parrot_                                   _Frontispiece_

    '_Stay here and you shall be King_'                _To face p._ 60

    _The Princess and the Wolves in the Forest_             "       90

    _The Boy in the Valley_                                 "      206

    _The Ascent of the Crystal Tower_                       "      222

    '_Queen of Snakes, give me back my Husband_'            "      252

    _The Sea-maiden with a wicked Face_                     "      284

    _The Princess chooses_                                  "      290


_PLATES_

    _Ismenor brings Lino to Riquette_                  _To face p._ 12

    _The Magician's Wife whistles to the Parrot_            "       22

    _The Dragon Discomfited_                                "       28

    '_Will you lend me your ox, fair maiden?_'              "       38

    _Abeille finds herself among the Little Men_            "       46

    _King Loc carries Abeille away from her Mother_         "       56

    _The Bunniah's Story_                                   "       66

    '_Quick! prince! quick! the time is flying,
        comb me at once_'                                   "       94

    _Samba found skulking by his Wife_                      "      110

    _The Princess changes Clothes with the Goose-girl_      "      162

    '_What think you, O mortal, of my fair and lovely
        wife?_'                                             "      170

    _The Prince has pity on the Gold-headed Fish_           "      178

    '_He never could persuade her to say a single
        word._'                                             "      188

    _The Princess gets her Letter_                          "      200

    '_I accept your challenge. Mount and follow me.
        I am Zoulvisia._'                                   "      218

    _The Witch and her Snakes_                              "      226

    _The Princess of Arabia released from the Iron
        Pillar_                                             "      262

    _The Boy secures the Bracelet_                          "      280

    _Blind Rage filled the Heart of the Watcher_            "      296

    '_The Seven Veils fell from her_'                       "      332


_ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT_

                                                                  PAGE
    _Love at first sight_                                            2

    _How the Birds were brought to the Sultan_                       5

    _The Swallow brings the Note to Lino_                           18

    _Pull as He might, He could not get free_                       37

    '_Is this the Man that You wish to Marry?_'                     62

    _The Farmer finds the Queen weeping by the Palanquin_           73

    _The Unlucky Shot_                                              75

    _Ameer Ali wins the Anklet_                                     78

    _The Princess saves the White Fox_                             100

    _Imani attends to the Crippled Fakir_                          121

    _Imani listens to what the Monkeys say_                        127

    _Maia carried off by the Cockchafer_                           135

    _Maia and the Spiders in the Evening_                          141

    _He helped her to jump from the Swallow's back_                142

    _The Poisoned Nail_                                            159

    _The Invisible Prince goes with the Ladies_                    194

    _The King laughs at the Billygoat_                             213

    _Suddenly the Tree rose up again and flew away_                240

    _The Snake Prince visits his Wife_                             251

    _The Robber-chief catches the Queen_                           259

    _The Hawk flies away with the Lamp_                            271

    _The Silent Princess speaks at last_                           327




_MADSCHUN_


Once upon a time there lived, in a small cottage among some hills, a
woman with her son, and, to her great grief, the young man, though
hardly more than twenty years of age, had not as much hair on his head
as a baby. But, old as he looked, the youth was very idle, and
whatever trade his mother put him to he refused to work, and in a few
days always came home again.

On a fine summer morning he was lying as usual half asleep in the
little garden in front of the cottage when the sultan's daughter came
riding by, followed by a number of gaily dressed ladies. The youth
lazily raised himself on his elbow to look at her, and that one glance
changed his whole nature.

'I will marry her and nobody else,' he thought. And jumping up, he
went to find his mother.

'You must go at once to the sultan, and tell him that I want his
daughter for my wife,' he said.

'WHAT?' shouted the old woman, shrinking back into a corner, for
nothing but sudden madness could explain such an amazing errand.

'Don't you understand? You must go at once to the sultan and tell him
that I want his daughter for my wife,' repeated the youth impatiently.

'But--but, do you know what you are saying?' stammered the mother.
'You will learn no trade, and have only the five gold pieces left you
by your father, and can you really expect that the sultan would give
his daughter to a penniless bald-pate like you?'

'That is _my_ affair; do as I bid you.' And neither day nor night did
her son cease tormenting her, till, in despair, she put on her best
clothes, and wrapped her veil about her, and went over the hill to the
palace.

It was the day that the sultan set apart for hearing the complaints
and petitions of his people, so the woman found no difficulty in
gaining admission to his presence.

  [Illustration: LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT]

'Do not think me mad, O Excellency,' she began, 'though I know I must
seem like it. But I have a son who, since his eyes have rested on the
veiled face of the princess, has not left me in peace day or night
till I consented to come to the palace, and to ask your Excellency for
your daughter's hand. It was in vain I answered that my head might pay
the forfeit of my boldness, he would listen to nothing. Therefore am
I here; do with me even as you will!'

Now the sultan always loved anything out of the common, and this
situation was new indeed. So, instead of ordering the trembling
creature to be flogged or cast into prison, as some other sovereigns
might have done, he merely said: 'Bid your son come hither.'

The old woman stared in astonishment at such a reply. But when the
sultan repeated his words even more gently than before, and did not
look in anywise angered, she took courage, and bowing again she
hastened homeward.

'Well, how have you sped?' asked her son eagerly as she crossed the
threshold.

'You are to go up to the palace without delay, and speak to the sultan
himself,' replied the mother. And when he heard the good news, his
face lightened up so wonderfully that his mother thought what a pity
it was that he had no hair, as then he would be quite handsome.

'Ah, the lightning will not fly more swiftly,' cried he. And in
another instant he was out of her sight.

When the sultan beheld the bald head of his daughter's wooer, he no
longer felt in the mood for joking, and resolved that he must somehow
or other shake himself free of such an unwelcome lover. But as he had
summoned the young man to the palace, he could hardly dismiss him
without a reason, so he hastily said:

'I hear you wish to marry my daughter? Well and good. But the man who
is to be her husband must first collect all the birds in the world,
and bring them into the gardens of the palace; for hitherto no birds
have made their homes in the trees.'

The young man was filled with despair at the sultan's words. How was
he to snare all these birds? and even if he _did_ succeed in catching
them it would take years to carry them to the palace! Still, he was
too proud to let the sultan think that he had given up the princess
without a struggle, so he took a road that led past the palace and
walked on, not noticing whither he went.

In this manner a week slipped by, and at length he found himself
crossing a desert with great rocks scattered here and there. In the
shadow cast by one of these was seated a holy man or dervish, as he
was called, who motioned to the youth to sit beside him.

'Something is troubling you, my son,' said the holy man; 'tell me what
it is, as I may be able to help you.'

'O, my father,' answered the youth, 'I wish to marry the princess of
my country; but the sultan refuses to give her to me unless I can
collect all the birds in the world and bring them into his garden. And
how can I, or any other man, do that?'

'Do not despair,' replied the dervish, 'it is not so difficult as it
sounds. Two days' journey from here, in the path of the setting sun,
there stands a cypress tree, larger than any other cypress that grows
upon the earth. Sit down where the shadow is darkest, close to the
trunk, and keep very still. By-and-by you will hear a mighty rushing
of wings, and all the birds in the world will come and nestle in the
branches. Be careful not to make a sound till everything is quiet
again, and then say "Madschun!" At that the birds will be forced to
remain where they are--not one can move from its perch; and you will
be able to place them all over your head and arms and body, and in
this way you must carry them to the sultan.'

With a glad heart the young man thanked the dervish, and paid such
close heed to his directions that, a few days later, a strange figure
covered with soft feathers walked into the presence of the sultan. The
princess's father was filled with surprise, for never had he seen such
a sight before. Oh! how lovely were those little bodies, and bright
frightened eyes! Soon a gentle stirring was heard, and what a
multitude of wings unfolded themselves: blue wings, yellow wings, red
wings, green wings. And when the young man whispered 'Go,' they first
flew in circles round the sultan's head, and then disappeared through
the open window, to choose homes in the garden.

  [Illustration: HOW THE BIRDS WERE BROUGHT TO THE SULTAN]

'I have done your bidding, O Sultan, and now give me the princess,'
said the youth. And the sultan answered hurriedly:

'Yes! oh, yes! you have pleased me well! Only one thing remains to
turn you into a husband that any girl might desire. That head of
yours, you know--it is so _very_ bald! Get it covered with nice thick
curly hair, and _then_ I will give you my daughter. You are so clever
that I am sure this will give you no trouble at all.'

Silently the young man listened to the sultan's words, and silently he
sat in his mother's kitchen for many days to come, till, one morning,
the news reached him that the sultan had betrothed his daughter to the
son of the wizir, and that the wedding was to be celebrated without
delay in the palace. With that he arose in wrath, and made his way
quickly and secretly to a side door, used only by the workmen who kept
the building in repair, and, unseen by anyone, he made his way into
the mosque, and then entered the palace by a gallery which opened
straight into the great hall. Here the bride and bridegroom and two or
three friends were assembled, waiting for the appearance of the sultan
for the contract to be signed.

'Madschun!' whispered the youth from above. And instantly everyone
remained rooted to the ground; and some messengers whom the sultan had
sent to see that all was ready shared the same fate.

At length, angry and impatient, the sultan went down to behold with
his own eyes what had happened, but as nobody could give him any
explanation, he bade one of his attendants to fetch a magician, who
dwelt near one of the city gates, to remove the spell which had been
cast by some evil genius.

'It is your own fault,' said the magician, when he had heard the
sultan's story. 'If you had not broken your promise to the young man,
your daughter would not have had this ill befall her. Now there is
only one remedy, and the bridegroom you have chosen must yield his
place to the bald-headed youth.'

Sore though he was in his heart, the sultan knew that the magician was
wiser than he, and despatched his most trusted servants to seek out
the young man without a moment's delay and bring him to the palace.
The youth, who all this time had been hiding behind a pillar, smiled
to himself when he heard these words, and, hastening home, he said to
his mother: 'If messengers from the sultan should come here and ask
for me, be sure you answer that it is a long while since I went away,
and that you cannot tell where I may be, but that if they will give
you money enough for your journey, as you are very poor, you will do
your best to find me.' Then he hid himself in the loft above, so that
he could listen to all that passed.

The next minute someone knocked loudly at the door, and the old woman
jumped up and opened it.

'Is your bald-headed son here?' asked the man outside. 'If so, let him
come with me, as the sultan wishes to speak with him directly.'

'Alas! sir,' replied the woman, putting a corner of her veil to her
eyes, 'he left me long since, and since that day no news of him has
reached me.'

'Oh! good lady, can you not guess where he may be? The sultan intends
to bestow on him the hand of his daughter, and he is certain to give a
large reward to the man who brings him back.'

'He never told me whither he was going,' answered the crone, shaking
her head. 'But it is a great honour that the sultan does him, and well
worth some trouble. There _are_ places where, perhaps, he may be
found, but they are known to me only, and I am a poor woman and have
no money for the journey.'

'Oh! that will not stand in the way,' cried the man. 'In this purse
are a thousand gold pieces; spend them freely. Tell me where I can
find him and you shall have as many more.'

'Very well,' said she, 'it is a bargain; and now farewell, for I must
make some preparations; but in a few days at furthest you shall hear
from me.'

For nearly a week both the old woman and her son were careful not to
leave the house till it was dark, lest they should be seen by any of
the neighbours, and as they did not even kindle a fire or light a
lantern, everyone supposed that the cottage was deserted. At length
one fine morning, the young man got up early and dressed himself, and
put on his best turban, and after a hasty breakfast took the road to
the palace.

The huge negro before the door evidently expected him, for without a
word he let him pass, and another attendant who was waiting inside
conducted him straight into the presence of the sultan, who welcomed
him gladly.

'Ah, my son! where have you hidden yourself all this time?' said he.
And the bald-headed man answered:

'Oh, Sultan! Fairly I won your daughter, but you broke your word, and
would not give her to me. Then my home grew hateful to me, and I set
out to wander through the world! But now that you have repented of
your ill-faith, I have come to claim the wife who is mine of right.
Therefore bid your wizir prepare the contract.'

So a fresh contract was prepared, and at the wish of the new
bridegroom was signed by the sultan and the wizir in the chamber where
they met. After this was done, the youth begged the sultan to lead him
to the princess, and together they entered the big hall, where
everyone was standing exactly as they were when the young man had
uttered the fatal word.

'Can you remove the spell?' asked the sultan anxiously.

'I think so,' replied the young man (who, to say the truth, was a
little anxious himself), and stepping forward, he cried:

'Let the victims of Madschun be free!'

No sooner were the words uttered than the statues returned to life,
and the bride placed her hand joyfully in that of her new bridegroom.
As for the old one, he vanished completely, and no one ever knew what
became of him.

(Adapted from _Türkische Volksmärchen aus Stambul_. Dr. Ignaz Künos.
E. J. Brill, Leiden.)




_THE BLUE PARROT_


In a part of Arabia where groves of palms and sweet-scented flowers
give the traveller rest after toilsome journeys under burning skies,
there reigned a young king whose name was Lino. He had grown up under
the wise rule of his father, who had lately died, and though he was
only nineteen, he did not believe, like many young men, that he must
change all the laws in order to show how clever he was, but was
content with the old ones which had made the people happy and the
country prosperous. There was only one fault that his subjects had to
find with him, and that was that he did not seem in any hurry to be
married, in spite of the prayers that they frequently offered him.

The neighbouring kingdom was governed by the Swan fairy, who had an
only daughter, the Princess Hermosa, who was as charming in her way as
Lino in his. The Swan fairy always had an ambassador at the young
king's court, and on hearing the grumbles of the citizens that Lino
showed no signs of taking a wife, the good man resolved that _he_
would try his hand at match-making. 'For,' he said, 'if there is any
one living who is worthy of the Princess Hermosa he is to be found
here. At any rate, I can but try and bring them together.'

Now, of course, it was not proper to offer the princess in marriage,
and the difficulty was to work upon the unconscious king so as to get
the proposal to come from _him_. But the ambassador was well used to
the ways of courts, and after several conversations on the art of
painting, which Lino loved, he led the talk to portraits, and
mentioned carelessly that a particularly fine picture had lately been
made of his own princess. 'Though, as for a likeness,' he concluded,
'perhaps it is hardly as good as this small miniature, which was
painted a year ago.'

The king took it, and looked at it closely.

'Ah!' he sighed, 'that must be flattered! It cannot be possible that
any woman should be such a miracle of beauty.'

'If you could only see her,' answered the ambassador.

The king did not reply, but the ambassador was not at all surprised
when, the following morning, he was sent for into the royal presence.

'Since you showed me that picture,' began Lino, almost before the door
was shut, 'I have not been able to banish the face of the princess
from my thoughts. I have summoned you here to inform you that I am
about to send special envoys to the court of the Swan fairy, asking
her daughter in marriage.'

'I cannot, as you will understand, speak for my mistress in so
important a matter,' replied the ambassador, stroking his beard in
order to conceal the satisfaction he felt. 'But I know that she will
certainly be highly gratified at your proposal.'

'If that is so,' cried the king, his whole face beaming with joy,
'then, instead of sending envoys, I will go myself, and take you with
me. In three days my preparations will be made, and we will set out.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Unluckily for Lino, he had for his neighbour on the other side a
powerful magician named Ismenor, who was king of the Isle of Lions,
and the father of a hideous daughter, whom he thought the most
beautiful creature that ever existed. Riquette, for such was her name,
had also fallen in love with a portrait, but it was of King Lino, and
she implored her father to give him to her for a husband. Ismenor, who
considered that no man lived who was worthy of his treasure, was about
to send his chief minister to King Lino on this mission, when the news
reached him that the king had already started for the court of the
Swan fairy. Riquette was thrown into transports of grief, and implored
her father to prevent the marriage, which Ismenor promised to do; and
calling for an ugly and humpbacked little dwarf named Rabot, he
performed some spells which transported them quickly to a rocky valley
through which the king and his escort were bound to pass. When the
tramp of horses was heard, the magician took out an enchanted
handkerchief, which rendered invisible any one who touched it. Giving
one end to Rabot, and holding the other himself, they walked unseen
amongst the horsemen, but not a trace of Lino was to be found. And
this was natural enough, because the king, tired out with the
excitement and fatigue of the last few days, had bidden the heavy
coaches, laden with presents for the princess, to go forwards, while
he rested under the palms with a few of his friends. Here Ismenor
beheld them, all sound asleep; and casting a spell which prevented
their waking till he wished them to do so, he stripped the king of all
his clothes and dressed him in those of Rabot, whom he touched with
his ring, saying:

'Take the shape of Lino until you have wedded the daughter of the Swan
fairy.'

And so great was the magician's power that Rabot positively believed
himself to be really the king!

When the groom had mounted Lino's horse, and had ridden out of sight,
Ismenor aroused the king, who stared with astonishment at the dirty
garments in which he was dressed; but before he had time to look about
him, the magician caught him up in a cloud, and carried him off to his
daughter.

Meantime Rabot had come up with the others, who never guessed for a
moment that he was not their own master.

'I am hungry,' said he, 'give me something to eat at once.'

'May it please your majesty,' answered the steward, 'the tents are not
even set up, and it will be at least an hour before your supper is
served! We thought----'

'Who taught you to think?' interrupted the false king rudely. 'You are
nothing but a fool! Get me some horse's flesh directly--it is the best
meat in the world!'

The steward could hardly believe his ears. King Lino, the most polite
man under the sun, to speak to his faithful servant in such a manner!
And to want horse's flesh too! Why he was so delicate in his appetite
that he lived mostly on fruit and cakes. Well, well, there was no
knowing what people would come to; and, anyhow, he must obey at once,
if he wished to keep his head on his shoulders. Perhaps, after all, it
was love which had driven him mad, and, if so, by-and-by he might come
right again.

Whatever excuses his old servants might invent for their master, by
the time the procession reached the Swan's fairy capital there were no
more horses left, and they were forced to walk up to the palace on
foot. Hiding their surprise as best they could, they begged the king
to follow them, dismounting from their own horses, as he, they
supposed, preferred to walk. They soon perceived the Swan fairy and
her daughter awaiting them on a low balcony, under which the king
stopped.

'Madam,' he said, 'you may be surprised that I have come to ask your
daughter's hand in so unceremonious a fashion; but the journey is
long, and I was hungry and ate my horse, which is the best meat in the
world; and I forced my courtiers to eat theirs also. But for all that
I am a great king, and wish to be your son-in-law. And now that is
settled, where is Hermosa?'

  [Illustration: ISMENOR BRINGS LINO TO RIQUETTE]

'Sire,' answered the queen, not a little displeased as well as
amazed at the king's manner, which was so different from anything she
had been led to expect. 'You possess my daughter's portrait, and it
can have made but little impression on you if you don't recognise her
at once.'

'I don't remember any portrait,' replied Rabot; 'but perhaps it may be
in my pocket after all.' And he searched everywhere, while the
ladies-in-waiting looked on with astonishment, but of course found
nothing. When he had finished he turned to the princess, who stood
there blushing and angry, and said:

'If it is you whom I have come to marry, I think you are very
beautiful, and I am sure if I had even seen your portrait I should
have remembered it. Let us have the wedding as soon as possible; and,
meantime, I should like to go to sleep, for your country is very
different from mine, and I can assure you that after walking over
stones and sand for days and days one needs a little rest.'

And without waiting for a reply he bade one of the pages conduct him
to his room, where he was soon snoring so loud that he could be heard
at the other end of the town.

As soon as he was out of their sight the poor princess flung herself
into her mother's arms, and burst into tears. For fifteen days she had
had King Lino's portrait constantly before her, while the letter from
their own ambassador speaking of the young man's grace and charm had
never left her pocket. True, the portrait was faithful enough, but how
could that fair outside contain so rough and rude a soul? Yet this
even she might have forgiven had the king shown any of the signs of
love and admiration to which she had been so long accustomed. As for
her mother, the poor Swan fairy was so bewildered at the extraordinary
manners of her new son-in-law, that she was almost speechless.

Matters were in this state when King Lino's chamberlain begged for a
private audience of her majesty, and no sooner were they alone than he
told her that he feared that his master had suddenly gone mad, or had
fallen under the spell of some magician.

'I had been lost in astonishment before,' said he, 'but now that he
has failed to recognise the princess, and no longer possesses her
portrait, which he never would part from for a single instant, my
amazement knows no bounds. Perhaps, madam, your fairy gifts may be
able to discover the reason of this change in one whose courtesy was
the talk of the kingdom.' And with a low bow he took his departure.

The queen stood where the chamberlain left her, thinking deeply.
Suddenly her face cleared, and going to an old chest which she kept in
a secret room, she drew from it a small mirror. In this mirror she
could see faithfully reflected whatever she wished, and at this moment
she desired above all things to behold King Lino _as he really was_.

Ah! the chamberlain was right! It was not he who was lying on his bed
snoring till the whole palace shook beneath him. No, _this_ was her
real son-in-law--the man dressed in dirty clothes, and imprisoned in
one of Ismenor's strongest towers, and kissing the portrait of
Hermosa, which had escaped the wizard's notice, owing to the young
king having worn it, for better concealment, tied amongst his hair.
Calling hastily to her daughter, she bade her also look, and Hermosa
had the pleasure of gazing on Lino, who was behaving exactly as she
could have wished. The mirror was still in her hand when the door of
the prison opened, and there entered the hideous Riquette, who, from
her upraised eyes, seemed to be begging from Lino some favour which he
refused to grant. Of course Hermosa and her mother could not hear
their words, but from Riquette's angry face as she left the room, it
was not difficult to guess what had happened. But the mirror had more
to tell, for it appeared that in fury at her rejection by the king,
Riquette had ordered four strong men to scourge him till he fainted,
which was done in the sight of Hermosa, who in horror dropped the
mirror, and would have fallen, had she not been caught by her mother.

'Control yourself, my child,' said the fairy. 'We have need of all our
wits if we are to rescue the king from the power of those wicked
people. And first it is necessary to know who the man that has taken
his name and his face really is.'

Then, picking up the mirror, she wished that she might behold the
false lover; and the glass gave back a vision of a dirty, greasy
groom, lying, dressed as he was, on her bed of state.

'So this is the trick Ismenor hoped to play us! Well, we will have our
revenge, whatever it costs us to get it. Only we must be very careful
not to let him guess that he has not deceived us, for his skill in
magic is greater than mine, and I shall have to be very prudent. To
begin with, I must leave you, and if the false king asks why, then
answer that I have to settle some affairs on the borders of my
kingdom. Meanwhile, be sure you treat him most politely, and arrange
fêtes to amuse him. If he shows any sign of being suspicious, you can
even give him to understand that, on your marriage, I intend to give
up the crown to your husband. And now farewell!' So saying, the Swan
fairy waved her hand, and a cloud came down and concealed her, and
nobody imagined that the beautiful white cloud that was blown so
rapidly across the sky was the chariot that was carrying the Swan
fairy to the tower of Ismenor.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now the tower was situated in the midst of a forest, so the queen
thought that, under cover of the dark trees, it would be quite easy
for her to drop to earth unseen. But the tower was so thoroughly
enchanted that the more she tried to reach the ground the tighter
something tried to hold her back. At length, by putting forth all the
power she possessed, she managed to descend to the foot of the tower,
and there, weak and faint as she was with her exertions, she lost no
time in working her spells, and found that she could only overcome
Ismenor by means of a stone from the ring of Gyges. But how was she to
get this ring? for the magic book told her that Ismenor guarded it
night and day among his most precious treasures. However, get it she
must, and in the meantime the first step was to see the royal prisoner
himself. So, drawing out her tablets, she wrote as follows:

  [Illustration: THE SWALLOW BRINGS THE NOTE TO LINO]

'The bird which brings you this letter is the Swan fairy, mother of
Hermosa, who loves you as much as you love her!' And after this
assurance, she related the wicked plot of which he had been the
victim. Then, quickly changing herself into a swallow, she began to
fly round the tower, till she discovered the window of Lino's prison.
It was so high up that bars seemed needless, especially as four
soldiers were stationed in the passage outside, therefore the fairy
was able to enter, and even to hop on his shoulder, but he was so much
occupied with gazing at the princess's portrait that it was some time
before she could attract his attention. At last she gently scratched
his cheek with the corner of the note, and he looked round with a
start. On perceiving the swallow he knew at once that help had come,
and tearing open the letter, he wept with joy on seeing the words it
contained, and asked a thousand questions as to Hermosa, which the
swallow was unable to answer, though, by repeated nods, she signed to
him to read further. 'Must I indeed pretend to wish to marry that
horrible Riquette?' he cried, when he had finished. 'Can I obtain the
stone from the magician?'

Accordingly the next morning, when Riquette paid him her daily visit,
he received her much more graciously than usual. The magician's
daughter could not contain her delight at this change, and in answer
to her expressions of joy, Lino told her that he had had a dream by
which he had learned the inconstancy of Hermosa; also that a fairy had
appeared and informed him that if he wished to break the bonds which
bound him to the faithless princess and transfer his affections to the
daughter of Ismenor, he must have in his possession for a day and a
night a stone from the ring of Gyges, now in the possession of the
magician. This news so enchanted Riquette, that she flung her arms
round the king's neck and embraced him tenderly, greatly to his
disgust, as he would infinitely have preferred the sticks of the
soldiers. However, there was no help for it, and he did his best to
seem pleased, till Riquette relieved him by announcing that she must
lose no time in asking her father and obtaining from him the precious
stone.

His daughter's request came as a great surprise to Ismenor, whose
suspicions were instantly excited; but, think as he would, he could
not see any means by which the king, so closely guarded, might have
held communication with the Swan fairy. Still, he would do nothing
hastily, and, hiding his dismay, he told Riquette that his only wish
was to make her happy, and that as she wished so much for the stone he
would fetch it for her. Then he went into the closet where all his
spells were worked, and in a short time he discovered that his enemy
the Swan fairy was at that moment inside his palace.

'So that is it!' he said, smiling grimly. 'Well, she shall have a
stone by all means, but a stone that will turn everyone who touches it
into marble.' And placing a small ruby in a box, he returned to his
daughter.

'Here is the talisman which will gain you the love of King Lino,' he
said; 'but be sure you give him the box unopened, or else the stone
will lose all its virtue.' With a cry of joy Riquette snatched the box
from his hands, and ran off to the prison, followed by her father,
who, holding tightly the enchanted handkerchief, was able, unseen, to
watch the working of the spell. As he expected, at the foot of the
tower stood the Swan fairy, who had had the imprudence to appear in
her natural shape, waiting for the stone which the prince was to throw
to her. Eagerly she caught the box as it fell from the prince's hands,
but no sooner had her fingers touched the ruby, than a curious
hardening came over her, her limbs stiffened, and her tongue could
hardly utter the words 'We are betrayed.'

'Yes, you _are_ betrayed,' cried Ismenor, in a terrible voice; 'and
_you_,' he continued, dragging the king to the window, 'you shall turn
into a parrot, and a parrot you will remain until you can persuade
Hermosa to crush in your head.'

He had hardly finished before a blue parrot flew out into the forest;
and the magician, mounting in his winged chariot, set off for the Isle
of Swans, where he changed everybody into statues, exactly in the
positions in which he found them, not even excepting Rabot himself.
Only Hermosa was spared, and her he ordered to get into his chariot
beside him. In a few minutes he reached the Forest of Wonders, when
the magician got down, and dragged the unhappy princess out after him.

'I have changed your mother into a stone, and your lover into a
parrot,' said he, 'and you are to become a tree, and a tree you will
remain until you have crushed the head of the person you love best in
the world. But I will leave you your mind and memory, that your
tortures may be increased a thousand-fold.'

Great magician as he was, Ismenor could not have invented a more
terrible fate had he tried for a hundred years. The hours passed
wearily by for the poor princess, who longed for a wood-cutter's axe
to put an end to her misery. How were they to be delivered from their
doom? And even supposing that King Lino _did_ fly that way, there were
thousands of blue parrots in the forest, and how was she to know him,
or he her? As to her mother--ah! that was too bad to think about! So,
being a woman, she kept on thinking.

Meanwhile the blue parrot flew about the world, making friends
wherever he went, till, one day, he entered the castle of an old
wizard who had just married a beautiful young wife. Grenadine, for
such was her name, led a very dull life, and was delighted to have a
playfellow, so she gave him a golden cage to sleep in, and delicious
fruits to eat. Only in one way did he disappoint her--he never would
talk as other parrots did.

'If you only knew how happy it would make me, I'm sure you would try,'
she was fond of saying; but the parrot did not seem to hear her.

One morning, however, she left the room to gather some flowers, and
the parrot, finding himself alone, hopped to the table, and, picking
up a pencil, wrote some verses on a piece of paper. He had just
finished when he was startled by a noise, and letting fall the pencil,
he flew out of the window.

Now hardly had he dropped the pencil when the wizard lifted a corner
of the curtain which hung over the doorway, and advanced into the
room. Seeing a paper on the table, he picked it up, and great was his
surprise as he read:

    'Fair princess, to win your grace,
      I will hold discourse with you;
    Silence, though, were more in place
      Than chatt'ring like a cockatoo.'

'I half suspected it was enchanted,' murmured the wizard to himself.
And he fetched his books and searched them, and found that instead of
being a parrot, the bird was really a king who had fallen under the
wrath of a magician, and that magician the man whom the wizard hated
most in the world. Eagerly he read on, seeking for some means of
breaking the enchantment, and at last, to his great joy, he discovered
the remedy. Then he hurried to his wife, who was lying on some
cushions under the tree on which the parrot had perched, and informed
her that her favourite was really the king of a great country, and
that, if she would whistle for the bird, they would all go together to
a certain spot in the Forest of Marvels, 'where I will restore him to
his own shape. Only you must not be afraid or cry out, whatever I do,'
added he, 'or everything will be spoilt.' The wizard's wife jumped up
in an instant, so delighted was she, and began to whistle the song
that the parrot loved; but as he did not wish it to be known that he
had been listening to the conversation he waited until she had turned
her back, when he flew down the tree and alighted on her shoulder.
Then they got into a golden boat, which carried them to a clearing in
the forest, where three tall trees stood by themselves.

  [Illustration: THE MAGICIAN'S WIFE WHISTLES TO THE PARROT]

'I want these trees for my magic fire,' he said to his wife; 'put
the parrot on that branch, he will be quite safe, and go yourself to a
little distance. If you stay too near you may get your head crushed in
their fall.'

At these words the parrot suddenly remembered the prophecy of Ismenor,
and held himself ready, his heart beating at the thought that in one
of those trees he beheld Hermosa. Meanwhile the magician took a spade,
and loosened the earth of the roots of the three trees so that they
might fall all together. Directly the parrot observed them totter he
spread his wings and flew right under the middle one, which was the
most beautiful of the three. There was a crash, then Lino and Hermosa
stood facing each other, clasped hand in hand.

After the first few moments, the princess's thoughts turned to her
mother, and falling at the feet of the magician, who was smiling with
delight at the success of his plan, she implored him to help them once
more, and to give the Swan fairy back her proper shape.

'That is not so easy,' said he, 'but I will try what I can do.' And
transporting himself to his palace to obtain a little bottle of
poisoned water, he waited till nightfall, and started at once for
Ismenor's tower. Of course, had Ismenor consulted his books he would
have seen what his enemy was doing, he might have protected himself;
but he had been eating and drinking too much, and had gone to bed,
sleeping heavily. Changing himself into a bat, the magician flew into
the room, and hiding himself in the curtains, he poured all the liquid
over Ismenor's face, so that he died without a groan. At the same
instant the Swan fairy became a woman again, for no magician, however
powerful, can work spells which last beyond his own life.

So when the Swan fairy returned to her capital she found all her
courtiers waiting at the gate to receive her, and in their midst,
beaming with happiness, Hermosa and King Lino. Standing behind them,
though a long way off, was Rabot; but his dirty clothes had given
place to clean ones, when his earnest desire was granted, and the
princess had made him head of her stables.

And here we must bid them all farewell, feeling sure they will have
many years of happiness before them after the terrible trials through
which they have passed.

(Adapted and shortened from _Le Cabinet des Fées_.)




_GEIRLAUG THE KING'S DAUGHTER_


One day a powerful king and his beautiful wife were sitting in the
gardens of their capital city, talking earnestly about the future life
of their little son, who was sleeping by their side in his beautiful
golden cradle. They had been married for many years without children,
so when this baby came they thought themselves the happiest couple in
the whole world. He was a fine sturdy little boy, who loved to kick
and to strike out with his fists; but even if he had been weak and
small they would still have thought him the most wonderful creature
upon earth, and so absorbed were they in making plans for him, that
they never noticed a huge dark shadow creeping up, till a horrible
head with gleaming teeth stretched over them, and in an instant their
beloved baby was snatched away.

For a while the king and queen remained where they were, speechless
with horror. Then the king rose slowly, and holding out his hand to
his wife, led her weeping into the palace, and for many days their
subjects saw no more of them.

Meanwhile the dragon soared high into the air, holding the cradle
between his teeth, and the baby still slept on. He flew so fast that
he soon crossed the borders of another kingdom, and again he beheld
the king and queen of the country seated in the garden with a little
girl lying in a wonderful cradle of white satin and lace. Swooping
down from behind as he had done before, he was just about to seize the
cradle, when the king jumped up and dealt him such a blow with his
golden staff that the dragon not only started back, but in his pain
let fall the boy, as he spread his wings and soared into the air away
from all danger.

'That was a narrow escape,' said the king, turning to his wife, who
sat pale with fright, and clasping her baby tightly in her arms.
'Frightful,' murmured the queen; 'but look, what is that glittering
object that is lying out there?' The king walked in the direction of
her finger, and to his astonishment beheld another cradle and another
baby.

'Ah! the monster must have stolen this as he sought to steal
Geirlaug,' cried he. And stooping lower, he read some words that were
written on the fine linen that was wound round the boy. 'This is
Grethari, son of Grethari the king!' Unfortunately it happened that
the two neighbouring monarchs had had a serious quarrel, and for some
years had ceased holding communication with each other. So, instead of
sending a messenger at once to Grethari to tell him of the safety of
his son, the king contented himself with adopting the baby, which was
brought up with Geirlaug the princess.

For a while things went well with the children, who were as happy as
the day was long, but at last there came a time when the queen could
no more run races or play at hide-and-seek with them in the garden as
she was so fond of doing, but lay and watched them from a pile of soft
cushions. By-and-by she gave up doing even that, and people in the
palace spoke with low voices, and even Geirlaug and Grethari trod
gently and moved quietly when they drew near her room. At length, one
morning, they were sent for by the king himself, who, his eyes red
with weeping, told them that the queen was dead.

  [Illustration: THE DRAGON DISCOMFITED]

Great was the sorrow of the two children, for they had loved the
queen very dearly, and life seemed dull without her. But the
lady-in-waiting who took care of them in the tower which had been
built for them while they were still babies, was kind and good, and
when the king was busy or away in other parts of his kingdom she made
them quite happy, and saw that they were taught everything that a
prince and princess ought to know. Thus two or three years passed,
when, one day, as the children were anxiously awaiting their father's
return from a distant city, there rode post haste into the courtyard
of the palace a herald whom the king had sent before him, to say that
he was bringing back a new wife.

Now, in itself, there was nothing very strange or dreadful in the fact
that the king should marry again, but, as the old lady-in-waiting soon
guessed, the queen, in spite of her beauty, was a witch, and as it was
easy to see that she was jealous of everyone who might gain power over
her husband, it boded ill for Geirlaug and Grethari. The faithful
woman could not sleep for thinking about her charges, and her soul
sank when, a few months after the marriage, war broke out with a
country across the seas, and the king rode away at the head of his
troops. Then there happened what she had so long expected. One night,
when, unlike her usual habit, she was sleeping soundly--afterwards she
felt sure that a drug had been put into her food--the witch came to
the tower. Exactly what she did there no one knew, but, when the sun
rose, the beds of Grethari and Geirlaug were empty. At dawn the queen
summoned some of her guards, and told them that she had been warned in
a dream that some evil fate would befall her through a wild beast, and
bade them go out and kill every animal within two miles of the palace.
But the only beasts they found were two black foals of wondrous
beauty, fitted for the king's riding; it seemed a pity to kill them,
for what harm could two little foals do anyone? So they let them run
away, frisking over the plain, and returned to the palace.

'Did you see _nothing_, really _nothing_?' asked the queen, when they
again appeared before her.

'Nothing, your majesty,' they replied. But the queen did not believe
them, and when they were gone, she gave orders to her steward that at
supper the guards should be well plied with strong drink so that their
tongues should be loosened, and, further, that he was to give heed to
their babble, and report to her, whatever they might let fall.

'Your majesty's commands have been obeyed,' said the steward when,
late in the evening, he begged admittance to the royal apartments;
'but, after all, the men have told you the truth. I listened to their
talk from beginning to end, and nothing did they see save two black
foals.' He might have added more, but the look in the queen's blazing
eyes terrified him, and, bowing hastily, he backed quickly out of her
presence.

In a week's time the king came home, and right glad were all the
courtiers to see him.

'Now, perhaps, she will find some one else to scream at,' whispered
they amongst themselves. 'She' was the queen, who had vented her rage
on her attendants during these days, though what had happened to make
her so angry nobody knew. But whatever might be the meaning of it,
things would be sure to improve with the king to rule in the palace
instead of his wife. Unfortunately, their joy only lasted a short
while; for the very first night after the king's arrival the queen
related the evil dream she had dreamt in his absence, and begged him
to go out the next morning and kill every living creature he saw
within two miles of the city. The king, who always believed everything
the queen said, promised to do as she wished. But before he had ridden
through the lovely gardens that surrounded the palace, he was
attracted by the singing of two little blue birds perched on a
scarlet-berried holly, which made him think of everything beautiful
that he had ever heard of or imagined. Hour after hour passed by, and
still the birds sang, and still the king listened, though of course he
never guessed that it was Geirlaug and Grethari whose notes filled him
with enchantment. At length darkness fell; the birds' voices were
hushed, and the king awoke with a start to find that for that day his
promise to the queen could not be kept.

'Well! did you see anything?' she asked eagerly, when the king entered
her apartments.

'Ah, my dear, I am almost ashamed to confess to you. But the fact is
that before I rode as far as the western gate the singing of two
strange little blue birds made me forget all else in the world. And
you will hardly believe it--but not until it grew dark did I remember
where I was and what I should have been doing. However, to-morrow
nothing shall hinder me from fulfilling your desires.'

'There will be no to-morrow,' muttered the queen, as she turned away
with a curious glitter in her eyes. But the king did not hear her.

That night the king gave a great supper in the palace in honour of the
victory he had gained over the enemy. The three men whom the queen had
sent forth to slay the wild beasts held positions of trust in the
household, for to them was committed the custody of the queen's
person. And on the occasion of a feast their places were always next
that of the king, so it was easy for the queen to scatter a slow but
fatal poison in their cups without anyone being the wiser. Before dawn
the palace was roused by the news that the king was dead, and that the
three officers of the guards were dying also. Of course nobody's cries
and laments were as loud as those of the queen. But when once the
splendid funeral was over, she gave out that she was going to shut
herself up in a distant castle till the year of her mourning was over,
and after appointing a regent of the kingdom, she set out attended
only by a maid who knew all her secrets. Once she had left the palace
she quickly began to work her spells, to discover under what form
Geirlaug and Grethari lay hidden. Happily, the princess had studied
magic under a former governess, so was able to fathom her
step-mother's wicked plot, and hastily changed herself into a whale,
and her foster-brother into its fin. Then the queen took the shape of
a shark and gave chase.

For several hours a fierce battle raged between the whale and the
shark, and the sea around was red with blood; first one of the
combatants got the better, and then the other, but at length it became
plain to the crowd of little fishes gathered round to watch, that the
victory would be to the whale. And so it was. But when, after a mighty
struggle, the shark floated dead and harmless on the surface of the
water, the whale was so exhausted that she had only strength enough to
drag her wounded body into a quiet little bay, and for three days she
remained there as still and motionless as if she had been dead
herself. At the end of the three days her wounds were healed, and she
began to think what it was best to do.

'Let us go back to your father's kingdom,' she said to Grethari, when
they had both resumed their proper shapes, and were sitting on a high
cliff above the sea.

'How clever you are! I never should have thought of that!' answered
Grethari, who, in truth, was not clever at all. But Geirlaug took a
small box of white powder from her dress, and sprinkled some over him
and some over herself, and, quicker than lightning, they found
themselves in the palace grounds from which Grethari had been carried
off by the dragon so many years before.

'Now take up the band with the golden letters and bind it about your
forehead,' said Geirlaug, 'and go boldly up to the castle. And,
remember, however great may be your thirst, you must drink nothing
till you have first spoken to your father. If you do, ill will befall
us both.'

'_Why_ should I be thirsty?' replied Grethari, staring at her in
astonishment. 'It will not take me five minutes to reach the castle
gate.' Geirlaug held her peace, but her eyes had in them a sad look.
'Good-bye,' she said at last, and she turned and kissed him.

Grethari had spoken truly when he declared that he could easily get to
the castle in five minutes. At least, no one would have dreamed that
it could possibly take any longer. Yet, to his surprise, the door
which stood so widely open that he could see the colour of the
hangings within never appeared to grow any nearer, while each moment
the sun burned more hotly, and his tongue was parched with thirst.

'I don't understand! What _can_ be the matter with me--and why haven't
I reached the castle long ago?' he murmured to himself, as his knees
began to knock under him with fatigue, and his head to swim. For a few
more paces he staggered on blindly, when, suddenly, the sound of
rushing water smote upon his ears; and in a little wood that bordered
the path he beheld a stream falling over a rock. At this sight his
promise to Geirlaug was forgotten. Fighting his way through the
brambles that tore his clothes, he cast himself down beside the
fountain, and seizing the golden cup that hung from a tree, he drank a
deep draught.

When he rose up the remembrance of Geirlaug and of his past life had
vanished, and, instead, something stirred dimly within him at the
vision of the white-haired man and woman who stood in the open door
with outstretched hands.

'Grethari! Grethari! So you have come home at last,' cried they.

       *       *       *       *       *

For three hours Geirlaug waited in the spot where Grethari had left
her, and then she began to understand what had happened. Her heart was
heavy, but she soon made up her mind what to do, and pushing her way
out of the wood, she skirted the high wall that enclosed the royal
park and gardens, till she reached a small house where the forester
lived with his two daughters.

'Do you want a girl to sweep, and to milk the cows?' asked she, when
one of the sisters answered her knock.

'Yes, we do, very badly; and as you look strong and clean, we will
take you for a servant if you like to come,' replied the young woman.

'But, first, what is your name?'

'Lauphertha,' said Geirlaug quickly, for she did not wish anyone to
know who she was; and following her new mistress into the house, she
begged to be taught her work without delay. And so clever was she,
that, by-and-by, it began to be noised abroad that the strange girl
who had come to live in the forester's house had not her equal in the
whole kingdom for skill as well as beauty. Thus the years slipped
away, during which Geirlaug grew to be a woman. Now and then she
caught glimpses of Grethari as he rode out to hunt in the forest, but
when she saw him coming she hid herself behind the great trees, for
her heart was still sore at his forgetfulness. One day, however, when
she was gathering herbs, he came upon her suddenly, before she had
time to escape, though as she had stained her face and hands brown,
and covered her beautiful hair with a scarlet cap, he did not guess
her to be his foster-sister.

'What is your name, pretty maiden?' asked he.

'Lauphertha,' answered the girl with a low curtesy.

'Ah! it is you, then, of whom I have heard so much,' said he; 'you are
too beautiful to spend your life serving the forester's daughters.
Come with me to the palace, and my mother the queen will make you one
of her ladies in waiting.'

'Truly, that would be a great fortune,' replied the maiden. 'And, if
you really mean it, I will go with you. But how shall I know that you
are not jesting?'

'Give me something to do for you, and I will do it, whatever it is,'
cried the young man eagerly. And she cast down her eyes, and answered:

'Go to the stable, and bind the calf that is there so that it shall
not break loose in the night and wander away, for the forester and his
daughters have treated me well, and I would not leave them with aught
of my work still undone.'

  [Illustration: PULL AS HE MIGHT HE COULD NOT GET FREE]

So Grethari set out for the stable where the calf stood, and wound the
rope about its horns. But when he had made it fast to the wall, he
found that a coil of the rope had twisted itself round his wrist, and,
pull as he might, he could not get free. All night he wriggled and
struggled till he was half dead with fatigue. But when the sun rose
the rope suddenly fell away from him, and, very angry with the maiden
he dragged himself back to the palace. 'She is a witch,' he muttered
crossly to himself, 'and I will have no more to do with her.' And he
flung himself on his bed and slept all day.

Not long after this adventure the king and queen sent their beloved
son on an embassy to a neighbouring country to seek a bride from
amongst the seven princesses. The most beautiful of all was, of
course, the one chosen, and the young pair took ship without delay for
the kingdom of the prince's parents. The wind was fair and the vessel
so swift that, in less time than could have been expected, the harbour
nearest the castle was reached. A splendid carriage had been left in
readiness close to the beach, but no horses were to be found, for
every one had been carried off to take part in a great review which
the king was to hold that day in honour of his son's marriage.

'I can't stay here all day,' said the princess, crossly, when Grethari
told her of the plight they were in. 'I am perfectly worn out as it
is, and you will have to find something to draw the carriage, if it is
only a donkey. If you don't, I will sail back straight to my father.'

Poor Grethari was much troubled by the words of the princess. Not that
he felt so very much in love with her, for during the voyage she had
shown him several times how vain and bad tempered she was; but as a
prince and a bridegroom, he could not, of course, bear to think that
any slight had been put upon her. So he hastily bade his attendants to
go in search of some animal, and bring it at once to the place at
which they were waiting.

  [Illustration: 'WILL YOU LEND ME YOUR OX, FAIR MAIDEN?']

During the long pause the princess sat in the beautiful golden coach,
her blue velvet mantle powdered with silver bees drawn closely round
her, so that not even the tip of her nose could be seen. At length a
girl appeared driving a young ox in front of her, followed by one of
the prince's messengers, who was talking eagerly.

'Will you lend me your ox, fair maiden?' asked Grethari, jumping up
and going to meet them. 'You shall fix your own price, and it shall be
paid ungrudgingly, for never before was king's son in such a plight.'

'My price is seats for me and my two friends behind you and your bride
at the wedding feast,' answered she. And to this Grethari joyfully
consented.

Six horses would not have drawn the coach at the speed of this one ox.
Trees and fields flew by so fast that the bride became quite giddy,
and expected, besides, that they would be upset every moment. But, in
spite of her fears, nothing happened, and they drew up in safety at
the door of the palace, to the great surprise of the king and queen.
The marriage preparations were hurried on, and by the end of the week
everything was ready. It was, perhaps, fortunate that the princess was
too busy with her clothes and her jewels during this period to pay
much heed to Grethari, so that by the time the wedding day came round
he had almost forgotten how cross and rude she had been on the
journey.

The oldest men and women in the town agreed that nothing so splendid
had ever been seen as the bridal procession to the great hall, where
the banquet was to be held, before the ceremony was celebrated in the
palace. The princess was in high good humour, feeling that all eyes
were upon her, and bowed and smiled right and left. Taking the
prince's hand, she sailed proudly down the room, where the guests were
already assembled, to her place at the head of the table by the side
of the bridegroom. As she did so, three strange ladies in shining
dresses of blue, green, and red, glided in and seated themselves on a
vacant bench immediately behind the young couple. The red lady was
Geirlaug, who had brought with her the forester's daughters, and in
one hand she held a wand of birch bark, and in the other a closed
basket.

Silently they sat as the feast proceeded; hardly anyone noticed their
presence, or, if they did, supposed them to be attendants of their
future queen. Suddenly, when the merriment was at its height, Geirlaug
opened the basket, and out flew a cock and hen. To the astonishment of
everyone, the birds circled about in front of the royal pair, the cock
plucking the feathers out of the tail of the hen, who tried in vain to
escape from him.

'Will you treat me as badly as Grethari treated Geirlaug?' cried the
hen at last. And Grethari heard, and started up wildly. In an instant
all the past rushed back to him; the princess by his side was
forgotten, and he only saw the face of the child with whom he had
played long years ago.

'Where is Geirlaug?' he exclaimed, looking round the hall; and his
eyes fell upon the strange lady. With a smile she held out a ring
which he had given her on her twelfth birthday, when they were still
children, without a thought of the future. 'You and none other shall
be my wife,' he said, taking her hand, and leading her into the middle
of the company.

It is not easy to describe the scene that followed. Of course, nobody
understood what had occurred, and the king and queen imagined that
their son had suddenly gone mad. As for the princess her rage and fury
were beyond belief. The guests left the hall as quickly as they could,
so that the royal family might arrange their own affairs, and in the
end it was settled that half the kingdom must be given to the despised
princess, instead of a husband. She sailed back at once to her
country, where she was soon betrothed to a young noble, whom, in
reality, she liked much better than Grethari. That evening Grethari
was married to Geirlaug, and they lived happily till they died, and
made all their people happy also.

(From _Neuisländischen Volksmärchen_.)




_THE STORY OF LITTLE KING LOC_


Two or three miles from the coast of France, anyone sailing in a ship
on a calm day can see deep, deep down, the trunks of great trees
standing up in the water. Many hundreds of years ago these trees
formed part of a large forest, full of all sorts of wild animals, and
beyond the forest was a fine city, guarded by a castle in which dwelt
the Dukes of Clarides. But little by little the sea drew nearer to the
town; the foundations of the houses became undermined and fell in, and
at length a shining sea flowed over the land. However, all this
happened a long time after the story I am going to tell you.

The Dukes of Clarides had always lived in the midst of their people,
and protected them both in war and peace.

At the period when this tale begins the Duke Robert was dead, leaving
a young and beautiful duchess who ruled in his stead. Of course
everyone expected her to marry again, but she refused all suitors who
sought her hand, saying that, having only one soul she could have only
one husband, and that her baby daughter was quite enough for her.

       *       *       *       *       *

One day, she was sitting in the tower, which looked out over a rocky
heath, covered in summer with purple and yellow flowers, when she
beheld a troop of horsemen riding towards the castle. In the midst,
seated on a white horse with black and silver trappings, was a lady
whom the duchess at once knew to be her friend the Countess of
Blanchelande, a young widow like herself, mother of a little boy two
years older than Abeille des Clarides. The duchess hailed her arrival
with delight, but her joy was soon turned into weeping when the
countess sank down beside her on a pile of cushions, and told the
reason of her visit.

'As you know,' she said, taking her friend's hand and pressing it
between her own, 'whenever a Countess of Blanchelande is about to die
she finds a white rose lying on her pillow. Last night I went to bed
feeling unusually happy, but this morning when I woke the rose was
resting against my cheek. I have no one to help me in the world but
you, and I have come to ask if you will take Youri my son, and let him
be a brother to Abeille?'

Tears choked the voice of the duchess, but she flung herself on the
countess's neck, and pressed her close. Silently the two women took
leave of each other, and silently the doomed lady mounted her horse
and rode home again. Then, giving her sleeping boy into the care of
Francoeur, her steward, she laid herself quietly on her bed, where,
the next morning, they found her dead and peaceful.

So Youri and Abeille grew up side by side, and the duchess faithfully
kept her promise, and was a mother to them both. As they got bigger
she often took them with her on her journeys through her duchy, and
taught them to know her people, and to pity and to aid them.

It was on one of these journeys that, after passing through meadows
covered with flowers, Youri caught sight of a great glittering expanse
lying beneath some distant mountains.

'What is that, godmother?' he asked, waving his hand. 'The shield of a
giant, I suppose.'

'No; a silver plate as big as the moon!' said Abeille, twisting
herself round on her pony.

'It is neither a silver plate nor a giant's shield,' replied the
duchess; 'but a beautiful lake. Still, in spite of its beauty, it is
dangerous to go near it, for in its depths dwell some Undines, or
water spirits, who lure all passers-by to their deaths.'

Nothing more was said about the lake, but the children did not forget
it, and one morning, after they had returned to the castle, Abeille
came up to Youri.

'The tower door is open,' whispered she; 'let us go up. Perhaps we
shall find some fairies.'

But they did not find any fairies; only, when they reached the roof,
the lake looked bluer and more enchanting than ever. Abeille gazed at
it for a moment, and then she said:

'Do you see? I mean to go there!'

'But you mustn't,' cried Youri. 'You heard what your mother said. And,
besides, it is so far; how could we get there?'

'_You_ ought to know that,' answered Abeille scornfully. 'What is the
good of being a man, and learning all sorts of things, if you have to
ask me. However, there are plenty of other men in the world, and I
shall get one of them to tell me.'

Youri coloured; Abeille had never spoken like this before, and,
instead of being two years younger than himself, she suddenly seemed
many years older. She stood with her mocking eyes fixed on him, till
he grew angry at being outdone by a girl, and taking her hand he said
boldly:

'Very well, we will _both_ go to the lake.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The next afternoon, when the duchess was working at her tapestry
surrounded by her maidens, the children went out, as usual, to play in
the garden. The moment they found themselves alone, Youri turned to
Abeille, and holding out his hand, said:

'Come.'

'Come where?' asked Abeille, opening her eyes very wide.

'To the lake, of course,' answered the boy.

Abeille was silent. It was one thing to pretend you meant to be
disobedient some day, a long time off, and quite another to start for
such a distant place without anyone knowing that you had left the
garden. 'And in satin shoes, too! How stupid boys were to be sure.'

'Stupid or not, I am going to the lake, and you are going with me!'
said Youri, who had not forgotten or forgiven the look she had cast on
him the day before. 'Unless,' added he, 'you are afraid, and in that
case I shall go alone.'

This was too much for Abeille. Bursting into tears, she flung herself
on Youri's neck, and declared that wherever he went she would go too.
So, peace having been made between them, they set out.

  [Illustration: ABEILLE FINDS HERSELF AMONG THE LITTLE MEN]

It was a hot day, and the townspeople were indoors waiting till the
sun was low in the sky before they set out either to work or play, so
the children passed through the streets unperceived, and crossed the
river by the bridge into the flowery meadows along the road by which
they had ridden with the duchess. By-and-by Abeille began to feel
thirsty, but the sun had drunk up all the water, and not a drop was
left for her. They walked on a little further, and by good luck found
a cherry-tree covered with ripe fruit, and after a rest and a
refreshing meal, they were sure that they were strong enough to reach
the lake in a few minutes. But soon Abeille began to limp and to say
that her foot hurt her, and Youri had to untie the ribbons that
fastened her shoe and see what was the matter. A stone had got in, so
this was easily set right, and for a while they skipped along the path
singing and chattering, till Abeille stopped again. This time her shoe
had come off, and turning to pick it up she caught sight of the towers
of the castle, looking such a long way off that her heart sank, and
she burst into tears.

'It is getting dark, and the wolves will eat us,' sobbed she. But
Youri put his arms round her and comforted her.

'Why we are close to the lake now. There is nothing to be afraid of!
We shall be home again to supper,' cried he. And Abeille dried her
eyes, and trotted on beside him.

Yes, the lake was there, blue and silvery with purple and gold irises
growing on its banks, and white water-lilies floated on its bosom. Not
a trace was there of a man, or of one of the great beasts so much
feared by Abeille, but only the marks of tiny forked feet on the sand.
The little girl at once pulled off her torn shoes and stockings and
let the water flow over her, while Youri looked about for some nuts or
strawberries. But none were to be found.

'I noticed, a little way back, a clump of blackberry bushes,' said he.
'Wait here for me, and I will go and gather some fruit, and after that
we will start home again.' And Abeille, leaning her head drowsily
against a cushion of soft moss, murmured something in reply, and soon
fell asleep. In her dream a crow, bearing the smallest man that ever
was seen, appeared hovering for a moment above her, and then vanished.
At the same instant Youri returned and placed by her side a large
leaf-full of strawberries.

'It is a pity to wake her just yet,' thought he, and wandered off
beyond a clump of silvery willows to a spot from which he could get a
view of the whole lake. In the moonlight, the light mist that hung
over the surface made it look like fairyland. Then gradually the
silver veil seemed to break up, and the shapes of fair women with
outstretched hands and long green locks floated towards him. Seized
with a sudden fright, the boy turned to fly. But it was too late.

Unconscious of the terrible doom that had befallen her
foster-brother, Abeille slept on, and did not awake even when a crowd
of little men with white beards down to their knees came and stood in
a circle round her.

'What shall we do with her?' asked Pic, who seemed older than any of
them, though they were all very old.

'Build a cage and put her into it,' answered Rug.

'No! No! What should such a beautiful princess do in a cage?' cried
Dig. And Tad, who was the kindest of them all, proposed to carry her
home to her parents. But the other gnomes were too pleased with their
new toy to listen to this for a moment.

'Look, she is waking,' whispered Pau. And as he spoke Abeille slowly
opened her eyes. At first she imagined she was still dreaming; but as
the little men did not move, it suddenly dawned upon her that they
were real, and starting to her feet, she called loudly:

'Youri! Youri! Where are you?'

At the sound of her voice the gnomes only pressed more closely round
her, and, trembling with fear, she hid her face in her hands. The
gnomes were at first much puzzled to know what to do; then Tad,
climbing on a branch of the willow tree that hung over her, stooped
down, and gently stroked her fingers. The child understood that he
meant to be kind, and letting her hands fall, gazed at her captors.
After an instant's pause she said:

'Little men, it is a great pity that you are so ugly. But, all the
same, I will love you if you will only give me something to eat, as I
am dying of hunger.'

A rustle was heard among the group as she spoke. Some were very angry
at being called ugly, and said she deserved no better fate than to be
left where she was. Others laughed, and declared that it did not
matter what a mere mortal thought about them; while Tad bade Bog,
their messenger, fetch her some milk and honey, and the finest white
bread that was made in their ovens under the earth. In less time than
Abeille would have taken to tie her shoe he was back again, mounted on
his crow. And by the time she had eaten the bread and honey and drunk
the milk, Abeille was not frightened any more, and felt quite ready to
talk.

'Little men,' she said, looking up with a smile, 'your supper was very
good, and I thank you for it. My name is Abeille, and my brother is
called Youri. Help me to find him, and tell me which is the path that
leads to the castle, for mother must think something dreadful has
happened to us!'

'But your feet are so sore that you cannot walk,' answered Dig. 'And
we may not cross the bounds into your country. The best we can do is
to make a litter of twigs and cover it with moss, and we will bear you
into the mountains, and present you to our king.'

Now, many a little girl would have been terrified at the thought of
being carried off alone, she did not know where. But Abeille, when she
had recovered from her first fright, was pleased at the notion of her
strange adventure.

'How much she would have to tell her mother and Youri on her return.
Probably _they_ would never go inside a mountain, if they lived to be
a hundred.' So she curled herself comfortably on her nest of moss, and
waited to see what would happen.

Up, and up, and up they went; and by-and-by Abeille fell asleep again,
and did not wake till the sun was shining. Up, and up, and up, for the
little men could only walk very slowly, though they could spring over
rocks quicker than any mortal. Suddenly the light that streamed
through the branches of the litter began to change. It seemed hardly
less bright, but it was certainly different; then the litter was put
down, and the gnomes crowded round and helped Abeille to step out of
it.

Before her stood a little man not half her size, but splendidly
dressed and full of dignity. On his head was a crown of such huge
diamonds that you wondered how his small body could support it. A
royal mantle fell from his shoulders, and in his hand he held a lance.

'King Loc,' said one of the forest gnomes, 'we found this beautiful
child asleep by the lake, and have brought her to you. She says that
her name is Abeille, and her mother is the Duchess des Clarides.'

'You have done well,' answered the king; 'she shall be one of us.' And
standing on tiptoe, so that he could kiss her hand, he told her that
they would all take care of her and make her happy, and that anything
she wished for she should have at once.

'I want a pair of shoes,' replied Abeille.

'Shoes!' commanded the king, striking the ground with his lance; and
immediately a lovely pair of silver shoes embroidered with pearls were
slipped on her feet by one of the gnomes.

'They are beautiful shoes,' said Abeille rather doubtfully; 'but do
you think they will carry me all the way back to my mother?'

'No, they are not meant for rough roads,' replied the king, 'but for
walking about the smooth paths of the mountain, for we have many
wonders to show you.'

'Little King Loc,' answered Abeille, 'take away these beautiful
slippers and give me a pair of wooden shoes instead, and let me go
back to my mother.' But King Loc only shook his head.

'Little King Loc,' said Abeille again--and this time her voice
trembled--'let me go back to my mother and Youri, and I will love you
with all my heart, nearly as well as I love them.'

'Who is Youri?' asked King Loc.

'Why--Youri--who has lived with us since I was a baby,' replied
Abeille; surprised that he did not know what everyone else was aware
of, and never guessing that by mentioning the boy she was sealing her
own fate. For King Loc had already thought what a good wife she would
make him in a few years' time, and he did not want Youri to come
between them. So he was silent, and Abeille, seeing he was not
pleased, burst into tears.

'Little King Loc,' she cried, taking hold of a corner of his mantle,
'think how unhappy my mother will be. She will fancy that wild beasts
have eaten me, or that I have got drowned in the lake.'

'Be comforted,' replied King Loc; 'I will send her a dream, so that
she shall know that you are safe.'

At this Abeille's sad face brightened. 'Little King Loc,' she said,
smiling, 'how clever you are! But you must send her a dream every
night, so that she shall see _me_--and _me_ a dream, so that I may see
her.'

And this King Loc promised to do.

When Abeille grew accustomed to do without her mother and Youri, she
made herself happy enough in her new home. Everyone was kind to her,
and petted her, and then there were such quantities of new things for
her to see. The gnomes were always busy, and knew how to fashion
beautiful toys as well or better than the people who lived on the
earth; and now and then, wandering with Tad or Dig in the underground
passages, Abeille would catch a glimpse of blue sky through a rent in
the rocks, and this she loved best of all. In this manner six years
passed away.

'His Highness King Loc wishes to see you in his presence chamber,'
said Tad, one morning, to Abeille, who was singing to herself on a
golden lute; and Abeille, wondering why the king had grown so formal
all of a sudden, got up obediently. Directly she appeared, King Loc
opened a door in the wall which led into his treasure chamber. Abeille
had never been there before, and was amazed at the splendid things
heaped up before her. Gold, jewels, brocades, carpets, lay round the
walls, and she walked about examining one glittering object after
another, while King Loc mounted a throne of gold and ivory at one end
of the hall, and watched her. 'Choose whatever you wish,' he said at
last. A necklace of most lovely pearls was hanging from the wall, and
after hesitating for a moment between that and a circlet of diamonds
and sapphires, Abeille stretched up her hand towards it. But before
she touched it her eyes lighted on a tiny piece of sky visible through
a crack of the rock, and her hand dropped by her side. 'Little King
Loc, let me go up to the earth once again,' she said.

Then King Loc made a sign to the treasurer, who opened a coffer full
of nothing but precious stones, larger and more dazzling than were
worn by any earthly monarch. 'Choose what you will, Abeille,'
whispered King Loc.

But Abeille only shook her head.

'A drop of dew in the garden at Clarides is brighter to me than the
best of those diamonds,' she answered, 'and the bluest of the stones
are not as blue as the eyes of Youri.' And as she spoke a sharp pain
ran through the heart of King Loc. For an instant he said nothing,
then he lifted his head and looked at her. 'Only those who despise
riches should possess them. Take this crown, from henceforth you are
the Princess of the Gnomes.'

During thirty days no work was done in those underground regions, for
a feast was held in honour of the new princess. At the end of that
period, the king appeared before Abeille, clad in his most splendid
garments, and solemnly asked her to be his wife.

'Little King Loc,' answered the girl, 'I love you as you are, for your
goodness and kindness to me; but never, never can I love you as
anything else.'

The king sighed. It was only what he had expected; still, his
disappointment was great, though he tried bravely to hide it, and even
to smile as he said: 'Then, Abeille, will you promise me one thing? If
there should come a day when you find that there is somebody whom you
_could_ love, will you tell me?'

And in her turn Abeille promised.

After this, in spite of the fact that everyone was just as kind to her
as before, Abeille was no longer the merry child who passed all her
days playing with the little gnomes. People who dwell under the earth
grow up much faster than those who live on its surface, and, at
thirteen, the girl was already a woman. Besides, King Loc's words had
set her thinking; she spent many hours by herself, and her face was no
longer round and rosy, but thin and pale. It was in vain that the
gnomes did their best to entice her into her old games, they had lost
their interest, and even her lute lay unnoticed on the ground.

But one morning a change seemed to come over her. Leaving the room
hung with beautiful silks, where she usually sat alone, she entered
the king's presence, and taking his hand she led him through long
corridors till they came to a place where a strip of blue sky was to
be seen.

'Little King Loc,' she said, turning her eyes upon him, 'let me behold
my mother again, or I shall surely die.' Her voice shook, and her
whole body trembled. Even an enemy might have pitied her; but the
king, who loved her, answered nothing. All day long Abeille stayed
there, watching the light fade, and the sky grow pale. By-and-by the
stars came out, but the girl never moved from her place. Suddenly a
hand touched her. She looked round with a start, and there was King
Loc, covered from head to foot in a dark mantle, holding another over
his arm. 'Put on this and follow me,' was all he said. But Abeille
somehow knew that she was going to see her mother.

On, and on, and on they went, through passages where Abeille had never
been before, and at length she was out in the world again. Oh! how
beautiful it all was! How fresh was the air, and how sweet was the
smell of the flowers! She felt as if she should die with joy, but at
that moment King Loc lifted her off the ground, and, tiny though he
was, carried her quite easily across the garden and through an open
door into the silent castle.

'Listen, Abeille,' he whispered softly. 'You have guessed where we are
going, and you know that every night I send your mother a vision of
you, and she talks to it in her dream, and smiles at it. To-night it
will be no vision she sees, but you yourself; only remember, that if
you touch her or speak to her my power is lost, and never more will
she behold either you or your image.'

By this time they had reached the room which Abeille knew so well, and
her heart beat violently as the gnome carried her over the threshold.
By the light of a lamp hanging over the bed Abeille could see her
mother, beautiful still, but with a face that had grown pale and sad.
As she gazed the sadness vanished, and a bright smile came in its
stead. Her mother's arms were stretched out towards her, and the girl,
her eyes filled with tears of joy, was stooping to meet them, when
King Loc hastily snatched her up, and bore her back to the realm of
the gnomes.

If the king imagined that by granting Abeille's request he would make
her happy, he soon found out his mistake, for all day long the girl
sat weeping, paving no heed to the efforts of her friends to comfort
her.

'Tell me what is making you so unhappy?' said King Loc, at last. And
Abeille answered:

  [Illustration: KING LOC CARRIES ABEILLE AWAY FROM HER MOTHER]

'Little King Loc, and all my friends here, you are so good and kind
that I know that you are miserable when I am in trouble. I would be
happy if I could, but it is stronger than I. I am weeping because I
shall never see again Youri de Blanchelande, whom I love with all my
heart. It is a worse grief than parting with my mother, for at least I
know where she is and what she is doing; while, as for Youri, I
cannot tell if he is dead or alive.'

The gnomes were all silent. Kind as they were, they were not mortals,
and had never felt either great joys or deep sorrows. Only King Loc
dimly guessed at something of both, and he went away to consult an
old, old gnome, who lived in the lowest depth of the mountain, and had
spectacles of every sort, that enabled him to see all that was
happening, not only on the earth, but under the sea.

Nur, for such was his name, tried many of these spectacles before he
could discover anything about Youri de Blanchelande.

'There he is!' he cried at last. 'He is sitting in the palace of the
Undines, under the great lake; but he does not like his prison, and
longs to be back in the world, doing great deeds.'

It was true. In the seven years that had passed since he had left the
castle of Clarides to go with Abeille to the blue lake, Youri in his
turn had become a man.

The older he grew the more weary he got of the petting and spoiling he
received at the hands of the green-haired maidens, till, one day, he
flung himself at the feet of the Undine queen, and implored permission
to return to his old home.

The queen stooped down and stroked his hair.

'We cannot spare you,' she murmured gently. 'Stay here, and you shall
be king, and marry me.'

'But it is Abeille I want to marry,' said the youth boldly. But he
might as well have talked to the winds, for at last the queen grew
angry, and ordered him to be put in a crystal cage which was built for
him round a pointed rock.

It was here that King Loc, aided by the spectacles of Nur, found him
after many weeks' journey. As we know, the gnomes walk slowly, and the
way was long and difficult. Luckily, before he started, he had taken
with him his magic ring, and the moment it touched the wall the
crystal cage split from top to bottom.

'Follow that path, and you will find yourself in the world again,' he
said to Youri; and without waiting to listen to the young man's
thanks, set out on the road he had come.

'Bog,' he cried, to the little man on the crow, who had ridden to meet
him. 'Hasten to the palace and inform the Princess Abeille that Youri
de Blanchelande, for seven years a captive in the kingdom of the
Undines, has now returned to the castle of Clarides.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The first person whom Youri met as he came out of the mountain was the
tailor who had made all his clothes from the time that he came to live
at the castle. Of this old friend, who was nearly beside himself with
joy at the sight of the little master, lost for so many years, the
count begged for news of his foster-mother and Abeille.

'Alas! my lord, where can you have been that you do not know that the
Princess Abeille was carried off by the gnomes on the very day that
you disappeared yourself? At least, so we guess. Ah! that day has left
many a mark on our duchess! Yet she is not without a gleam of hope
that her daughter is living yet, for every night the poor mother is
visited by a dream which tells her all that the princess is doing.'

The good man went on to tell of all the changes that seven years had
brought about in the village, but Youri heard nothing that he said,
for his mind was busy with thoughts of Abeille.

  [Illustration: 'STAY HERE AND YOU SHALL BE KING']

At length he roused himself, and ashamed of his delay, he hastened to
the chamber of the duchess, who held him in her arms as if she would
never let him go. By-and-by, however, when she became calmer, he began
to question her about Abeille, and how best to deliver her from the
power of the gnomes. The duchess then told him that she had sent out
men in all directions to look for the children directly they were
found to be missing, and that one of them had noticed a troop of
little men far away on the mountains, evidently carrying a litter. He
was hastening after them, when, at his feet, he beheld a tiny satin
slipper, which he stooped to pick up. But as he did so a dozen of the
gnomes had swarmed upon him like flies, and beat him about the head
till he dropped the slipper, which they took away with them, leaving
the poor man dizzy with pain. When he recovered his senses the group
on the mountain had disappeared.

       *       *       *       *       *

That night, when everyone was asleep, Youri and his old servant
Francoeur, stole softly down into the armoury, and dressed themselves
in light suits of chain armour, with helmets and short swords, all
complete. Then they mounted two horses that Francoeur had tied up in
the forest, and set forth for the kingdom of the gnomes. At the end of
an hour's hard riding, they came to the cavern which Francoeur had
heard from childhood led into the centre of the earth. Here they
dismounted, and entered cautiously, expecting to find darkness as
thick as what they had left outside. But they had only gone a few
steps when they were nearly blinded by a sudden blaze of light, which
seemed to proceed from a sort of portcullis door, which barred the way
in front of them.

'Who are you?' asked a voice. And the count answered:

'Youri de Blanchelande, who has come to rescue Abeille des Clarides.'
And at these words the gate slowly swung open, and closed behind the
two strangers.

Youri listened to the clang with a spasm of fear in his heart; then
the desperate position he was in gave him courage. There was no
retreat for him now, and in front was drawn up a large force of
gnomes, whose arrows were falling like hail about him. He raised his
shield to ward them off, and as he did so his eyes fell on a little
man standing on a rock above the rest, with a crown on his head and a
royal mantle on his shoulders. In an instant Youri had flung away his
shield and sprung forward, regardless of the arrows that still fell
about him.

  [Illustration: 'IS THIS THE MAN THAT YOU WISH TO MARRY?']

'Oh, is it you, is it _really_ you, my deliverer? And is it your
subjects who hold as a captive Abeille whom I love?'

'I am King Loc,' was the answer. And the figure with the long beard
bent his eyes kindly on the eager youth. 'If Abeille has lived with us
all these years, for many of them she was quite happy. But the gnomes,
of whom you think so little, are a just people, and they will not keep
her against her will. Beg the princess to be good enough to come
hither,' he added, turning to Rug.

Amidst a dead silence Abeille entered the vast space and looked around
her. At first she saw nothing but a vast host of gnomes perched on the
walls and crowding on the floor of the big hall. Then her eyes met
those of Youri, and with a cry that came from her heart she darted
towards him, and threw herself on his breast.

'Abeille,' said the king, when he had watched her for a moment, with a
look of pain on his face, 'is this the man that you wish to marry?'

'Yes, Little King Loc, this is he and nobody else! And see how I can
laugh now, and how happy I am!' And with that she began to cry.

'Hush, Abeille! there must be no tears to-day,' said Youri, gently
stroking her hair. 'Come, dry your eyes, and thank King Loc, who
rescued me from the cage in the realm of the Undines.'

As Youri spoke Abeille lifted her head, and a great light came into
her face. At last she understood.

'You did that for me?' she whispered. 'Ah, Little King Loc----!'

       *       *       *       *       *

So, loaded with presents, and followed by regrets, Abeille went home.
In a few days the marriage took place; but however happy she was, and
however busy she might be, never a month passed by without a visit
from Abeille to her friends in the kingdom of the gnomes.

(Adapted and shortened from the story of _Abeille_, by M. Anatole
France.)




'_A LONG-BOW STORY_'


One day a bunniah,[1] or banker, was walking along a country road when
he overtook a farmer going in the same direction. Now the bunniah was
very grasping, like most of his class, and was lamenting that he had
had no chance of making any money that day; but at the sight of the
man in front he brightened up wonderfully.

'That is a piece of luck,' he said to himself. 'Let me see if this
farmer is not good for something'; and he hastened his steps.

After they had bid one another good day very politely, the bunniah
said to the farmer:

'I was just thinking how dull I felt, when I beheld you, but since we
are going the same way, I shall find the road quite short in such
agreeable company.'

'With all my heart,' replied the farmer; 'but what shall we talk
about? A city man like you will not care to hear about cattle and
crops.'

'Oh,' said the bunniah, 'I'll tell you what we will do. We will each
tell the other the wildest tale we can imagine, and he who first
throws doubt on the other's story shall pay him a hundred rupees.'

To this the farmer agreed, and begged the bunniah to begin, as he was
the bigger man of the two; and privately he made up his mind that,
however improbable it might be, nothing should induce him to hint that
he did not believe in the bunniah's tale. Thus politely pressed the
great man started:

'I was going along this road one day, when I met a merchant travelling
with a great train of camels laden with merchandise----'

'Very likely,' murmured the farmer; 'I've seen that kind of thing
myself.'

'No less than one hundred and one camels,' continued the bunniah, 'all
tied together by their nose strings--nose to tail--and stretching
along the road for almost half a mile----'

'Well?' said the farmer.

'Well, a kite swooped down on the foremost camel and bore him off,
struggling, into the air, and by reason of them all being tied
together the other hundred camels had to follow----'

'Amazing, the strength of that kite!' said the farmer.
'But--well--yes, doubtless; yes--well--one hundred and one camels--and
what did he do with them?'

'You doubt it?' demanded the bunniah.

'Not a bit!' said the farmer heartily.

'Well,' continued the bunniah, 'it happened that the princess of a
neighbouring kingdom was sitting in her private garden, having her
hair combed by her maid, and she was looking upward, with her head
thrown back, whilst the maid tugged away at the comb, when that
wretched kite, with its prey, went soaring overhead; and, as luck
would have it, the camels gave an extra kick just then, the kite lost
his hold, and the whole hundred and one camels dropped right into the
princess's left eye!'

'Poor thing!' said the farmer; 'it's so painful having anything in
one's eye.'

'Well,' said the bunniah, who was now warming to his task, 'the
princess shook her head, and sprang up, clapping her hand on her eye.
"Oh dear!" she cried, "I've got something in my eye, and how it _does_
smart!"'

'It always does,' observed the farmer, 'perfectly true. Well, what
did the poor thing do?'

'At the sound of her cries, the maid came running to her assistance.
"Let me look," said she; and with that she gave the princess's eyelid
a twitch, and out came a camel, which the maid put in her pocket--'
('Ah!' grunted the farmer)--'and then she just twisted up the corner
of her headcloth and fished a hundred more of them out of the
princess's eye, and popped them all into her pocket with the other.'

Here the bunniah gasped as one who is out of breath, but the farmer
looked at him slowly. 'Well?' said he.

'I can't think of anything more now,' replied the bunniah. 'Besides,
that is the end; what do you say to it?'

'Wonderful,' replied the farmer, 'and no doubt perfectly true!'

'Well, it is your turn,' said the bunniah. 'I am so anxious to hear
your story. I am sure it will be very interesting.'

'Yes, I think it will,' answered the farmer, and he began:

'My father was a very prosperous man. Five cows he had, and three yoke
of oxen, and half a dozen buffaloes, and goats in abundance; but of
all his possessions the thing he loved best was a mare. A well bred
mare she was--oh, a very fine mare!'

'Yes, yes,' interrupted the bunniah, 'get on!'

'I'm getting on,' said the farmer, 'don't you hurry me! Well, one day,
as ill-luck would have it, he rode that mare to market with a torn
saddle, which galled her so, that when they got home she had a sore on
her back as big as the palm of your hand.'

'Yes,' said the bunniah impatiently, 'what next?'

  [Illustration: THE BUNNIAH'S STORY]

'It was June,' said the farmer, 'and you know how, in June, the air
is full of dust-storms with rain at times? Well, the poor beast got
dust in that wound, and what's more, with the dust some grains of
wheat, and, what with the dust and the heat and the wet, that wheat
sprouted and began to grow!'

'Wheat does when it gets a fair chance,' said the bunniah.

'Yes; and the next thing we knew was that there was a crop of wheat on
that horse's back as big as anything you ever saw in a hundred-acre
field, and we had to hire twenty men to reap it!'

'One generally has to hire extra hands for reaping,' said the bunniah.

'And we got four hundred maunds of wheat off that mare's back!'
continued the farmer.

'A good crop!' murmured the bunniah.

'And your father,' said the farmer, 'a poor wretch, with hardly enough
to keep body and soul together--(the bunniah snorted, but was
silent)--came to my father, and he said, putting his hands together as
humble as could be----'

The bunniah here flashed a furious glance at his companion, but bit
his lips and held his peace.

'"I haven't tasted food for a week. Oh! great master, let me have the
loan of sixteen maunds of wheat from your store, and I will repay
you."'

'"Certainly, neighbour," answered my father; "take what you need, and
repay it as you can."'

'Well?' demanded the bunniah with fury in his eye.

'Well, he took the wheat away with him,' replied the farmer; 'but he
never repaid it, and it's a debt to this day. Sometimes I wonder
whether I shall not go to law about it.'

Then the bunniah began running his thumb quickly up and down the
fingers of his right hand, and his lips moved in quick calculation.

'What is the matter?' asked the farmer.

'The wheat is the cheaper; I'll pay you for the wheat,' said the
bunniah, with the calmness of despair, as he remembered that by his
own arrangement he was bound to give the farmer a hundred rupees.

And to this day they say in those parts, when a man owes a debt: 'Give
me the money; or, if not that, give me at least the wheat.'

(This is from oral tradition.)


FOOTNOTE:

[1] Grain merchant and banker, and generally a very greedy man.




_JACKAL OR TIGER?_


One hot night, in Hindustan, a king and queen lay awake in the palace
in the midst of the city. Every now and then a faint air blew through
the lattice, and they hoped they were going to sleep, but they never
did. Presently they became more broad awake than ever at the sound of
a howl outside the palace.

'Listen to that tiger!' remarked the king.

'Tiger?' replied the queen. 'How should there be a tiger inside the
city? It was only a jackal.'

'I tell you it was a tiger,' said the king.

'And I tell you that you were dreaming if you thought it was anything
but a jackal,' answered the queen.

'I say it was a tiger,' cried the king; 'don't contradict me.'

'Nonsense!' snapped the queen. 'It was a jackal.' And the dispute
waxed so warm that the king said at last:

'Very well, we'll call the guard and ask; and if it was a jackal I'll
leave this kingdom to you and go away; and if it was a tiger then you
shall go, and I will marry a new wife.'

'As you like,' answered the queen, 'there isn't any doubt which it
was.'

So the king called the two soldiers who were on guard outside and put
the question to them. But, whilst the dispute was going on, the king
and queen had got so excited and talked so loud that the guards had
heard nearly all they said, and one man observed to the other:

'Mind you declare that the king is right. It certainly was a jackal,
but, if we say so, the king will probably not keep his word about
going away, and we shall get into trouble, so we had better take his
side.'

To this the other agreed; therefore, when the king asked them what
animal they had seen, both the guards said it was certainly a tiger,
and that the king was right of course, as he always was. The king made
no remark, but sent for a palanquin, and ordered the queen to be
placed in it, bidding the four bearers of the palanquin to take her a
long way off into the forest and there leave her. In spite of her
tears, she was forced to obey, and away the bearers went for three
days and three nights until they came to a dense wood. There they set
down the palanquin with the queen in it, and started home again.

Now the queen thought to herself that the king could not mean to send
her away for good, and that as soon as he had got over his fit of
temper he would summon her back; so she stayed quite still for a long
time, listening with all her ears for approaching footsteps, but heard
none. After a while she grew nervous, for she was all alone, and put
her head out of the palanquin and looked about her. Day was just
breaking, and birds and insects were beginning to stir; the leaves
rustled in a warm breeze; but, although the queen's eyes wandered in
all directions, there was no sign of any human being. Then her spirit
gave way, and she began to cry.

It so happened that close to the spot where the queen's palanquin had
been set down, there dwelt a man who had a tiny farm in the midst of
the forest, where he and his wife lived alone far from any neighbours.
As it was hot weather the farmer had been sleeping on the flat roof of
his house, but was awakened by the sound of weeping. He jumped up and
ran downstairs as fast as he could, and into the forest towards the
place the sound came from, and there he found the palanquin.

'Oh, poor soul that weeps,' cried the farmer, standing a little way
off, 'who are you?' At this salutation from a stranger the queen grew
silent, dreading she knew not what.

  [Illustration: THE FARMER FINDS THE QUEEN WEEPING BY THE PALANQUIN]

'Oh, you that weep,' repeated the farmer, 'fear not to speak to me,
for you are to me as a daughter. Tell me, who are you?'

His voice was so kind that the queen gathered up her courage and
spoke. And when she had told her story, the farmer called his wife,
who led her to their house, and gave her food to eat, and a bed to lie
on. And in the farm, a few days later, a little prince was born, and
by his mother's wish named Ameer Ali.

Years passed without a sign from the king. His wife might have been
dead for all he seemed to care, though the queen still lived with the
farmer, and the little prince had by this time grown up into a strong,
handsome, and healthy youth. Out in the forest they seemed far from
the world; very few ever came near them, and the prince was
continually begging his mother and the farmer to be allowed to go away
and seek adventures and to make his own living. But she and the wise
farmer always counselled him to wait, until, at last, when he was
eighteen years of age, they had not the heart to forbid him any
longer. So he started off one early morning, with a sword by his side,
a big brass pot to hold water, a few pieces of silver, and a galail[2]
or two-stringed bow in his hand, with which to shoot birds as he
travelled.

Many a weary mile he tramped day after day, until, one morning, he saw
before him just such a forest as that in which he had been born and
bred, and he stepped joyfully into it, like one who goes to meet an
old friend. Presently, as he made his way through a thicket, he saw a
pigeon which he thought would make a good dinner, so he fired a pellet
at it from his galail, but missed the pigeon which fluttered away with
a startled clatter. At the same instant he heard a great clamour from
beyond the thicket, and, on reaching the spot, he found an ugly old
woman streaming wet and crying loudly as she lifted from her head an
earthen vessel with a hole in it from which the water was pouring.
When she saw the prince with his galail in his hand, she called out:

'Oh, wretched one! why must you choose an old woman like me to play
your pranks upon? Where am I to get a fresh pitcher instead of this
one that you have broken with your foolish tricks? And how am I to go
so far for water twice when one journey wearies me?'

  [Illustration: THE UNLUCKY SHOT]

'But, mother,' replied the prince, 'I played no trick upon you! I did
but shoot at a pigeon that should have served me for dinner, and as my
pellet missed it, it must have broken your pitcher. But, in exchange,
you shall have my brass pot, and that will not break easily; and as
for getting water, tell me where to find it, and I'll fetch it while
you dry your garments in the sun, and carry it whither you will.'

At this the old woman's face brightened. She showed him where to seek
the water, and when he returned a few minutes later with his pot
filled to the brim, she led the way without a word, and he followed.
In a short while they came to a hut in the forest, and as they drew
near it Ameer Ali beheld in the doorway the loveliest damsel his eyes
had ever looked on. At the sight of a stranger she drew her veil about
her and stepped into the hut, and much as he wished to see her again
Ameer Ali could think of no excuse by which to bring her back, and so,
with a heavy heart, he made his salutation, and bade the old woman
farewell. But when he had gone a little way she called after him:

'If ever you are in trouble or danger, come to where you now stand and
cry: "Fairy of the Forest! Fairy of the forest, help me now!" And I
will listen to you.'

The prince thanked her and continued his journey, but he thought
little of the old woman's saying, and much of the lovely damsel.
Shortly afterwards he arrived at a city; and, as he was now in great
straits, having come to the end of his money, he walked straight to
the palace of the king and asked for employment. The king said he had
plenty of servants and wanted no more; but the young man pleaded so
hard that at last the rajah was sorry for him, and promised that he
should enter his bodyguard on the condition that he would undertake
any service which was especially difficult or dangerous. This was just
what Ameer Ali wanted, and he agreed to do whatever the king might
wish.

Soon after this, on a dark and stormy night, when the river roared
beneath the palace walls, the sound of a woman weeping and wailing was
heard above the storm. The king ordered a servant to go and see what
was the matter; but the servant, falling on his knees in terror,
begged that he might not be sent on such an errand, particularly on a
night so wild, when evil spirits and witches were sure to be abroad.
Indeed, so frightened was he, that the king, who was very
kind-hearted, bade another to go in his stead, but each one showed the
same strange fear. Then Ameer Ali stepped forward:

'This is my duty, your majesty,' he said, 'I will go.'

The king nodded, and off he went. The night was as dark as pitch, and
the wind blew furiously and drove the rain in sheets into his face;
but he made his way down to the ford under the palace walls and
stepped into the flooded water. Inch by inch, and foot by foot he
fought his way across, now nearly swept off his feet by some sudden
swirl or eddy, now narrowly escaping being caught in the branches of
some floating tree that came tossing and swinging down the stream. At
length he emerged, panting and dripping wet, on the other side. Close
by the bank stood a gallows, and on the gallows hung the body of some
evildoer, whilst from the foot of it came the sound of sobbing that
the king had heard.

Ameer Ali was so grieved for the one who wept there that he thought
nothing of the wildness of the night or of the roaring river. As for
ghosts and witches, they had never troubled him, so he walked up
towards the gallows where crouched the figure of the woman.

'What ails you?' he said.

Now the woman was not really a woman at all, but a horrid kind of
witch who really lived in Witchland, and had no business on earth. If
ever a man strayed into Witchland the ogresses used to eat him up, and
this old witch thought she would like to catch a man for supper, and
that is why she had been sobbing and crying in hopes that someone out
of pity might come to her rescue.

So when Ameer Ali questioned her, she replied:

'Ah, kind sir, it is my poor son who hangs upon that gallows; help me
to get him down and I will bless you for ever.'

Ameer Ali thought that her voice sounded rather eager than sorrowful,
and he suspected that she was not telling the truth, so he determined
to be very cautious.

  [Illustration: AMEER ALI WINS THE ANKLET]

'That will be rather difficult,' he said, 'for the gallows is high,
and we have no ladder.'

'Ah, but if you will just stoop down and let me climb upon your
shoulders,' answered the old witch, 'I think I could reach him.' And
her voice now sounded so cruel that Ameer Ali was sure that she
intended some evil. But he only said:

'Very well, we will try.' With that he drew his sword, pretending that
he needed it to lean upon, and bent so that the old woman could
clamber on to his back, which she did very nimbly. Then, suddenly, he
felt a noose slipped over his neck, and the old witch sprang from his
shoulders on to the gallows, crying:

'Now, foolish one, I have got you, and will kill you for my supper.'

But Ameer Ali gave a sweep upwards with his sharp sword to cut the
rope that she had slipped round his neck, and not only cut the cord
but cut also the old woman's foot as it dangled above him; and with a
yell of pain and anger she vanished into the darkness.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ameer Ali then sat down to collect himself a little, and felt upon the
ground by his side an anklet that had evidently fallen off the old
witch's foot. This he put into his pocket, and as the storm had by
this time passed over he made his way back to the palace. When he had
finished his story, he took the anklet out of his pocket and handed it
to the king, who, like everyone else, was amazed at the glory of the
jewels which composed it. Indeed, Ameer Ali himself was astonished,
for he had slipped the anklet into his pocket in the dark and had not
looked at it since. The king was delighted at its beauty, and having
praised and rewarded Ameer Ali, he gave the anklet to his daughter, a
proud and spoiled princess.

Now in the women's apartments in the palace there hung two cages, in
one of which was a parrot and in the other a starling, and these two
birds could talk as well as human beings. They were both pets of the
princess who always fed them herself, and the next day, as she was
walking grandly about with her treasure tied round her ankle, she
heard the starling say to the parrot:

'Oh, Toté' (that was the parrot's name), 'how do you think the
princess looks in her new jewel?'

'Think?' snapped the parrot, who was cross because they hadn't given
him his bath that morning, 'I think she looks like a washerwoman's
daughter, with one shoe on and the other off! Why doesn't she wear two
of them, instead of going about with one leg adorned and the other
empty?'

When the princess heard this she burst into tears; and sending for her
father she declared that he must get her another such an anklet to
wear on the other leg, or she would die of shame. So the king sent for
Ameer Ali and told him that he must get a second anklet exactly like
the first within a month, or he should be hanged, for the princess
would certainly die of disappointment.

Poor Ameer Ali was greatly troubled at the king's command, but he
thought to himself that he had, at any rate, a month in which to lay
his plans. He left the palace at once, and inquired of everyone where
the finest jewels were to be got; but though he sought night and day
he never found one to compare with the anklet. At last only a week
remained, and he was in sore difficulty, when he remembered the Fairy
of the forest, and determined to go without loss of time and seek her.
Therefore away he went, and after a day's travelling he reached the
cottage in the forest, and, standing where he had stood when the old
woman called to him, he cried:

'Fairy of the forest! Fairy of the forest! Help me! help me!'

Then there appeared in the doorway the beautiful girl he had seen
before, whom in all his wanderings he had never forgotten.

'What is the matter?' she asked, in a voice so soft that he listened
like one struck dumb, and she had to repeat the question before he
could answer. Then he told her his story, and she went within the
cottage and came back with two wands, and a pot of boiling water. The
two wands she planted in the ground about six feet apart, and then,
turning to him, she said:

'I am going to lie down between these two wands. You must then draw
your sword and cut off my foot, and, as soon as you have done that,
you must seize it and hold it over the cauldron, and every drop of
blood that falls from it into the water will become a jewel. Next you
must change the wands so that the one that stood at my head is at my
feet, and the one at my feet stands at my head, and place the severed
foot against the wound and it will heal, and I shall become quite well
again as before.'

At first Ameer Ali declared that he would sooner be hanged twenty
times over than treat her so roughly; but at length she persuaded him
to do her bidding. He nearly fainted himself with horror when he found
that, after the cruel blow which lopped her foot off, she lay as one
lifeless; but he held the severed foot over the cauldron, and, as
drops of blood fell from it, and he saw each turn in the water into
shining gems, his heart took courage. Very soon there were plenty of
jewels in the cauldron, and he quickly changed the wands, placed the
severed foot against the wound, and immediately the two parts became
one as before. Then the maiden opened her eyes, sprang to her feet,
and drawing her veil about her, ran into the hut, and would not come
out or speak to him any more. For a long while he waited, but, as she
did not appear, he gathered up the precious stones and returned to the
palace. He easily got some one to set the jewels, and found that there
were enough to make, not only one, but three rare and beautiful
anklets, and these he duly presented to the king on the very day that
his month of grace was over.

The king embraced him warmly, and made him rich gifts; and the next
day the vain princess put two anklets on each foot, and strutted up
and down in them admiring herself in the mirrors that lined her room.

'Oh, Toté,' asked the starling, 'how do you think our princess looks
now in these fine jewels?'

  [Illustration]

'Ugh!' growled the parrot, who was really always cross in the
mornings, and never recovered his temper until after lunch, 'she's got
all her beauty at one end of her now; if she had a few of those fine
gew-gaws round her neck and wrists she would look better; but now, to
my mind, she looks more than ever like the washerwoman's daughter
dressed up.'

Poor princess! she wept and stormed and raved until she made herself
quite ill; and then she declared to her father that, unless she had
bracelets and necklace to match the anklets she would die.

Again the king sent for Ameer Ali, and ordered him to get a necklace
and bracelets to match those anklets within a month, or be put to a
cruel death.

And again Ameer Ali spent nearly the whole month searching for the
jewels, but all in vain. At length he made his way to the hut in the
forest, and stood and cried:

'Fairy of the forest! Fairy of the forest! Help me! help me!'

Once more the beautiful maiden appeared at his summons and asked what
he wanted, and when he had told her she said he must do exactly as he
had done the first time, except that now he must cut off both her
hands and her head. Her words turned Ameer Ali pale with horror; but
she reminded him that no harm had come to her before, and at last he
consented to do as she bade him. From her severed hands and head there
fell into the cauldron bracelets and chains of rubies and diamonds,
emeralds and pearls that surpassed any that ever were seen. Then the
head and hands were joined on to the body, and left neither sign nor
scar. Full of gratitude, Ameer Ali tried to speak to her, but she ran
into the house and would not come back, and he was forced to leave her
and go away laden with the jewels.

When, on the day appointed, Ameer Ali produced a necklace and
bracelets each more beautiful and priceless than the last, the king's
astonishment knew no bounds, and as for his daughter she was nearly
mad with joy. The very next morning she put on all her finery, and
thought that now, at least, that disagreeable parrot could find no
fault with her appearance, and she listened eagerly when she heard the
starling say:

'Oh, Toté, how do you think our princess is looking _now_?'

'Very fine, no doubt,' grumbled the parrot; 'but what is the use of
dressing up like that for oneself only? She ought to have a
husband--why doesn't she marry the man who got her all these splendid
things?'

Then the princess sent for her father and told him that she wished to
marry Ameer Ali.

'My dear child,' said her father, 'you really are very difficult to
please, and want something new every day. It certainly is time you
married someone, and if you choose this man, of course he shall marry
you.'

So the king sent for Ameer Ali, and told him that within a month he
proposed to do him the honour of marrying him to the princess, and
making him heir to the throne.

On hearing this speech Ameer Ali bowed low and answered that he had
done and would do the king all the service that lay in his power, save
only this one thing. The king, who considered his daughter's hand a
prize for any man, flew into a passion, and the princess was more
furious still. Ameer Ali was instantly thrown into the most dismal
prison that they could find, and ordered to be kept there until the
king had time to think in what way he should be put to death.

Meanwhile the king determined that the princess ought in any case to
be married without delay, so he sent forth heralds throughout the
neighbouring countries, proclaiming that on a certain day any person
fitted for a bridegroom and heir to the throne should present himself
at the palace.

When the day came, all the court were gathered together, and a great
crowd assembled of men, young and old, who thought that they had as
good a chance as anyone else to gain both the throne and the princess.
As soon as the king was seated, he called upon an usher to summon the
first claimant. But, just then, a farmer who stood in front of the
crowd cried out that he had a petition to offer.

'Well, hasten then,' said the king; 'I have no time to waste.'

'Your majesty,' said the farmer, 'has now lived and administered
justice long in this city, and will know that the tiger who is king
of beasts hunts only in the forest, whilst jackals hunt in every place
where there is something to be picked up.'

'What is all this? what is all this?' asked the king. 'The man must be
mad!'

'No, your majesty,' answered the farmer, 'I would only remind your
majesty that there are plenty of jackals gathered to-day to try and
claim your daughter and kingdom: every city has sent them, and they
wait hungry and eager; but do not, O king, mistake or pretend again to
mistake the howl of a jackal for the hunting cry of a tiger.'

The king turned first red and then pale.

'There is,' continued the farmer, 'a royal tiger bred in the forest
who has the first and only true claim to your throne.'

'Where? what do you mean?' stammered the king, growing pale as he
listened.

'In prison,' replied the farmer; 'if your majesty will clear this
court of the jackals I will explain.'

'Clear the court!' commanded the king; and, very unwillingly, the
visitors left the palace.

'Now tell me what riddle this is,' said he.

Then the farmer told the king and his ministers how he had rescued the
queen and brought up Ameer Ali; and he fetched the old queen herself,
whom he had left outside. At the sight of her the king was filled with
shame and self-reproach, and wished he could have lived his life over
again, and not have married the mother of the proud princess, who
caused him endless trouble until her death.

'My day is past,' said he. And he gave up his crown to his son Ameer
Ali, who went once more and called to the forest fairy to provide him
with a queen to share his throne.

'There is only one person I will marry,' said he. And this time the
maiden did not run away, but agreed to be his wife. So the two were
married without delay, and lived long and reigned happily.

As for the old woman whose pitcher Ameer Ali had broken, she was the
forest maiden's fairy godmother, and when she was no longer needed to
look after the girl she gladly returned to fairyland.

The old king has never been heard to contradict his wife any more. If
he even looks as if he does not agree with her, she smiles at him and
says:

'Is it the tiger, then? or the jackal?' And he has not another word to
say.


FOOTNOTE:

[2] A galail is a double-stringed bow from which bullets or pellets of
hard dried clay can be fired with considerable force and precision.




_THE COMB AND THE COLLAR_


Once upon a time there was a king of Lombardy who, though he was
uglier than any of his subjects, loved beauty in others, so he married
a wife who was declared by everyone to be the handsomest of women;
and, whispered some, the most ill-natured also. Certainly she could
not endure the sight of a pretty person, and her ladies were all the
plainest of their sex. Worse than all, she was desperately jealous of
the king's son and daughter by his former wife.

Unfortunately, in spite of all her evil qualities, the king was her
complete slave, and badly though she treated the boy, the lovely
princess was made to suffer ten times as much. Not contented with
giving the girl, for a governess, a woman whose temper was as bad as
the queen's own, the cruel step-mother did everything she could think
of to spoil the girl's beauty, and to force her to appear as ugly as
she was herself; but, try as she might, when the hideous clothes and
frightful brown paint had been removed, her loveliness shone out as
bright as ever.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now the king of Lombardy was cousin to the Archduke of Placenza, who
had lately lost his reason, to the great grief of his son and
daughter, Perarthrites and Ferrandina. The doctors having all failed
to restore him to health, the prince and princess sent a messenger to
consult a famous enchantress, called the Mother of Sheaths, because
everyone who visited her brought with him a knife, which she thrust
into one of the sheaths with which her cavern was lined. However, they
obtained little comfort from the witch, who bade them 'seek their
father's wits in the place where he had lost them.' Against the wishes
of the chief ministers, Perarthrites and Ferrandina rode off to the
mysterious castle where the king had slept when his terrible fate had
overtaken him, and, once inside the gates, nothing more was heard of
them.

       *       *       *       *       *

When three weeks had passed and still there was no news, the king's
chief minister called a council to talk over the matter, and, at the
end, it was decided that a company of distinguished persons should
visit the Mother of Sheaths, and that the knives they must take with
them should be of pure gold, richly set with precious stones. The
witch was so pleased with the beauty of the gifts that she not only
listened attentively to their story, but proceeded to a hole in the
cavern, from which she drew out a little case containing a comb, and a
steel collar, fastened by a gold key.

'Carry this comb and the collar to every court until you find a lady
beautiful enough to unlock the collar, and a man good enough to draw
the comb from its case. When you have discovered these, you can return
whence you came.'

'But I do not see,' said the chamberlain, 'how that will help us to
bring back our lost prince and princess.'

'It is all I can do for you,' answered the Mother of Sheaths; and she
went into the back of the cavern, where they dared not follow her.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the next few months the mad king's principal ministers wandered
from one court to another, till at last they reached Lombardy, where
they found that their story had already travelled before them. As soon
as they appeared in the presence-chamber the king received them with
open arms, for in his heart he had no doubt that his wife was the
peerless beauty destined to unfasten the collar. And, indeed, if paint
and hair-dye and magnificent dresses could have ensured her doing so,
he would certainly have been right. But, blinded by his love for this
wicked woman, he had really no idea that her charms were not her own.

At the appointed hour the queen entered the throne-room, having by her
side the young princess, in the most grievous plight imaginable. Her
dress was so contrived as to give the idea that she had a hump; her
pink-and-white skin was thickly covered with yellow paint, and her
black hair all hidden by a close-fitting brown cloth cap. Murmurs of
indignation rose on all sides, and the ambassadors, who had frequently
heard the princess compared to the lovely Ferrandina, were dumb with
astonishment. As for the king, he could hardly raise his eyes from the
ground, so ashamed was he; and signing to his son to take his place,
he withdrew from the scene.

Mounting the throne, the prince commanded the trial to begin at once,
and the collar was handed to the princess's governess, who, being one
of the ugliest women that ever was seen, naturally failed to turn the
key. Seizing the chance of his being for a short time in power, the
prince resolved to punish her cruelties towards his sister, and
especially this last one, to which she had prompted the queen, and
ordered her to be taken out and executed, which was done, with great
good will, by the attendants. He then further commanded the ladies in
waiting to attend his sister to her apartments, and bathe her and
dress her in the queen's most splendid robes, as she had none of her
own; and the queen, though gnashing her teeth with anger, for once
dared not interfere. More quickly than could have been expected, the
princess returned, looking so beautiful that if anyone had doubted
before who would be able to unlock the collar they were instantly
convinced. The prince glanced at her, but said nothing, and, signing
to one of the ambassadors, he ordered him to make trial of the comb.
One by one each man present did his best to remove it from its case,
and one by one each was forced to own himself beaten. At length only
the prince remained, but as he was the judge he must wait till the
last.

After the men had finished, the ladies of the court had the collar
presented to them according to rank, but none could even turn the key.
Finally it was handed to the queen, who managed to open it a little
way. Her heart beat with triumph, but immediately it closed again with
a snap, and she sank back, fainting from disappointment.

By this time there were only left the prince and his sister; and no
sooner did he touch the case than it opened of itself, while the lock
of the collar yielded directly the princess took hold of the key.
Cries of delight rose from the courtiers and attendants; but these
were interrupted by a whirlwind accompanied by thick darkness, and
followed by an earthquake.

When all was calm again, and the sun shining, the prince and princess
had disappeared.

  [Illustration: THE PRINCESS AND THE WOLVES IN THE FOREST]

Although the king's son and daughter were the only persons who had
vanished in the storm, unluckily they had been carried off in opposite
directions. The rapid motion through the air deprived the princess of
her senses, which she nearly lost a second time, from fright, when she
was set down alone in the middle of a thick forest. She ran wildly
about, calling to her brother to come to her aid; but her cries only
attracted the attention of some hungry wolves, who sprung towards her
with their jaws gaping and their red tongues hanging out. Falling on
her knees, she covered her face with one hand unconsciously grasping
the collar with the other, and awaited her doom. Already she could
feel their hot breath on her cheek, and crouched lower and lower,
when the eyes of the foremost wolf caught sight of the collar. With a
howl that echoed through the forest he bounded away, followed by his
companions.

As soon as the princess had recovered from the shock she rose and
fled, without knowing whither, until she found herself in a broad
road, and beheld, approaching her, a flock of sheep driven by two
shepherds. She hastened towards them in order to implore their help,
when suddenly the sheep caught sight of her collar and instantly
scattered in all directions.

'I must have something about me which frightens all beasts,' she
thought, and took great comfort therefrom; and in good spirits she
went her way, till she came to the gates of an old castle. She was
just about to enter and beg for a night's shelter, when a snow white
fox ran across the road, and stopped in front of her.

He was so pretty, and had such bright beseeching eyes, that the
princess hastily tucked the collar under her dress, lest he too should
flee at the sight of it. Very gently she drew near, hoping he might
follow her into the castle, but he only set off in another direction,
and, tired though she was, something forced the girl to follow him.
Thankful indeed was she when he turned a corner and sat down before
the door of a tiny palace, which was built on the bank of a river.
When she came up he took the hem of her dress between his teeth and
led her into a room where there was a table covered with milk and
fruit. After she had eaten and drunk, she lay down upon a pile of
cushions, with the fox at her feet, and fell asleep to dream of her
lost brother.

If the princess was dreaming of her brother, he was no less thinking
of her, on the wild sea-shore, whither the whirlwind had cast him. All
was bleak and bare, except a green island which he could only see from
the top of a high rock where he passed all his days, gazing on the
waving palm trees and glittering waterfalls in the distance.

'Suppose she should be there?' he said to himself; and though there
was no reason to expect that the princess should be in that place more
than in any other, he could not get the notion out of his head.

A song, sung in the loveliest voice he had ever heard, roused the
young man from his musings, and he instantly turned in the direction
from which it had come. But though the singer seemed close to him he
could see her nowhere, and indeed, no sooner had he reached one spot
than the voice sounded in another direction, and he followed it up and
down, till he was suddenly stopped by the sight of a large fish's
skin, which lay stretched on the sand between the sea and the rocks.
The thing was so ugly, that he stepped aside in disgust, and at that
instant something leapt into the sea behind his back. This caused him
to look round. The fish's skin was no longer there, but in a cave in
the rock behind it he discovered a bath of ebony lined with gold,
which glittered in the sunlight.

Days passed without any adventures, and the prince had almost made up
his mind to leave the shore, and to seek his sister inland, when once
more he heard the voice that had so charmed him, and beheld the bloody
skin lying on the sand, and the bath, now filled with water, in the
grotto. Little sleep had he that night, and before dawn he hid himself
behind the rocks, determined not to move from the place till the fish
should come back again.

He had not very long to wait, for with the first rays of the sun there
appeared, out to sea, a shining white object which was blown by gentle
breezes towards the shore. As it came nearer he beheld a maiden, of
dazzling loveliness, seated in a shell where blues and pinks and
greens all melted into each other. In her hand she held the rope with
which the shell was guided.

The prince was so bewildered at her beauty that he forgot that he was
in hiding, and, rushing out, sank on his knees on the sands, holding
out his hands towards this wonderful vision. But as he did so the comb
and its case fell out of his pocket, and at the sight the lady uttered
a wild shriek, and, steering her shell round, vanished speedily in the
direction of the island. Throwing off his clothes, the prince was
preparing to swim after her, when he perceived beside him a snow white
fox, looking the same way, and making frantic signs with his paws,
till a small boat put out and set sail towards them, to the great joy
of the little creature.

When the boat drew up to the beach, the fox waved his paw towards the
prince's clothes, which he took to mean that he was to put them on
again. This done, they both got in, and had just pushed off, when the
prince suddenly recollected that the sight of the comb had frightened
away the beautiful lady. In a transport of fury he raised his hand to
fling it into the sea, but the fox sprang on him and held on so
tightly to his arm that he could not lift it. At that moment a
horseman on the shore let fly an arrow at the fox, with so true an aim
that the little creature fell heavily into the well of the boat, and
closed its eyes, like one who has received his death-blow. The grief
of the prince was sore. He instantly leaped to land, but the murderer
was already far distant. When the young man turned round again, the
boat and the fox were nowhere to be seen.

An approaching storm drove him into the grotto, which was lighted up
by a multitude of tapers, each one being in the shape of a knife half
out of its sheath. Over the bath was a tent-shaped covering of white,
embroidered with sheaths, and from beneath it came a voice:

'Prince, will you trust me whatever happens, knowing that my heart is
yours, and as I feel that yours is mine? But, beware, for if you give
the smallest sign of fear, when the tent is opened, you will lose me
for ever.'

She did well to warn him; and even then he had much ado to keep the
colour in his cheeks and his hand from trembling, for a crocodile's
head with snapping jaws advanced towards him. With a mighty effort he
managed to remain still, and to gaze steadily at the horrible beast,
and as he did so, the head bent backwards, and beneath it was seen the
lovely countenance of the Lady of the Shell.

'Quick! prince! quick! the time is flying, comb me at once or I shall
vanish from your sight.' At her words he took out the comb, but found
to his surprise that it needed all his strength to draw it from its
sheath. And, strange to say, that in proportion as the comb emerged
from its sheath the lady's head was freed from its horrible covering,
and her body rose a little more out of the water. When her shoulders
and arms were freed, she called to him:

'Enough, so far you have obeyed my orders. Now burn my skin.'

'Ah, that I can _never_ do,' cried he; but the lady cut him short.

'Then we shall both rue it for ever,' she said gravely; 'for I can
only be the wife of him who will burn my skin.' And while he still
stood hesitating, the curtains of the tent fell back on her, and the
tapers fizzled out.

Bitterly repenting his slowness, he wandered towards the forest where
a fire was burning, hardly knowing what he did; but on his way he
almost fell over the skin, which was lying across his path.

  [Illustration: 'QUICK! PRINCE! QUICK! THE TIME IS FLYING, COMB ME
      AT ONCE!']

'Ah, fool that I was! This must be the skin she wished me to burn,'
said he. And seizing it in both hands he flung it into the fire, where
it exploded with a terrific noise. At first he rushed off to some
distance, not knowing what might next befall, but after a while found
that his steps had led him back to the place of the fire. The skin had
gone and left no traces, but among the cinders he beheld something
shining, which proved to be the magic collar. Ah! then his sister, for
whom he had so greatly longed, must be near at last! And before he
could turn his head or pick up the collar, her arms were round his
neck, and everything else was forgotten.

'You shall tell your story first,' she said, when at length they could
speak. And so he did; but his head was so full of the Lady of the
Shell that he forgot to say anything about the fox. And it was well
that he had forgotten, for when the princess had poured forth her own
adventures, she ended up by speaking of all she owed to the little
white fox.

'You cannot even guess the care he took of me in the little palace.
But though nothing could exceed his kindness, I saw by his eyes that
there was something he wanted me to give him, but I could not tell
what. Alas! the day came that I learnt it to my cost. I had hidden the
collar in a thick bush, lest the fox should catch sight of it and be
scared away as the other animals had been. But, one day, when we were
in the garden, the sun happened to shine straight on it, and he sprang
towards it with every sign of delight. He was about to seize it
between his teeth when it closed with a loud noise. The fox fled away
with a piercing scream, and though I have sought him far and wide, I
have never seen him since. I was here when you flung the skin into the
cinders, and no doubt, in my hurry to escape, the collar must have
dropped from me. Ah, dear brother,' she continued with tears in her
eyes, 'I can no longer live without my beloved fox; help me, I entreat
you, to find him.'

So great was her grief that the prince dared not tell her what sad
fate had overtaken the poor little animal, and trusted that time might
soothe her. He assured her that he would go with her wherever she
desired if she would grant him this one day to spend on the sea-shore;
and with this the princess was forced to be content.

The prince was standing on the rock, looking out towards the lovely
island, and straining his eyes to see the white sail once more, when
frightful shrieks from the wood a little way off caused him to hasten
with all his speed in that direction. He soon perceived a knight on
horseback with a bow slung to his back, struggling to lift a woman on
to his saddle. The knights' surprise at the sight of a man in this
desolate spot caused him to drop the woman's arm, and she rushed to
take shelter behind her defender, who, to his amazement, then
recognised his step-mother.

'How did you come here?' he asked coldly, more than half regretting
that he had not left her to her fate; but she read what was in his
heart, and fell on her knees before him.

'Oh, forgive me my wickedness,' she cried, 'for indeed I have repented
of it long ago, and come to the aid of your father who has been sorely
smitten by that mad archduke from whom you have just saved me! There
is no time to pursue him,' she added, as the prince started at the
sound of the vanishing hoofs; and as they pushed their way along the
path she told him all that had happened since they had last met.

'From the moment that the king knew of my cruelty to your sister,'
said she, 'he vowed he would never see me again, and left the court in
search of you both. I followed him secretly, but not being able to
gain any tidings of him, consulted the Mother of Sheaths, who took me
to rest in that island where the palm trees are waving. There she
showed me a lovely princess who, under a spell, was forced daily to
take the form of a crocodile, and when the dreaded moment arrived the
skin appeared before her, and, shudder as she might, some unseen power
impelled her to wrap herself in it and plunge into the sea. It is to
this island I am leading you; but first we must find your sister, for
on her presence hangs the life of the white fox--if, indeed, he is not
dead already.'

'The white fox!' exclaimed the prince. 'What do you know of him?'

'Not much,' answered the queen; 'but, since I arrived on the island,
he was always with us, and charmed us all. Yesterday we missed him,
but in the evening a little boat drifted up on the sands, and in it
lay the fox, covered with blood. While his wounds were being tended in
the palace with all the care imaginable, I set out to consult a
wizard, who told me that I must enter the skiff and seek for the
prince and princess of Lombardy, and that if, in twenty-four hours, I
could bring them into the presence of the fox, his life would be
saved. On a rock along the beach I found your father with an arrow
through his shoulder, from the bow of his cousin the mad archduke, who
was drawing another from his quiver, destined for me, when I fled into
the forest!'

'My father so near!' cried the prince. 'We must return and seek him,
and also look for my sister.'

       *       *       *       *       *

They found her in the grotto, with her father's head in her lap,
trying vainly to staunch his wounds. Between them they contrived to
carry him to the boat, which sailed swiftly towards the island. On the
way the prince gently broke to his sister the sad state of the white
fox.

'Take me to him!' she said, as soon as the boat touched the island;
and in silence the queen went down the path to the palace.

The white fox was lying on a soft mattress in front of a fire, his
eyes closed, and a look on his face which told that death was not far
distant. But he knew, somehow, that the princess was near him, and
opened his eyes and wagged his tail feebly. The princess burst into
sobs and tears, till a hand on her shoulder checked her.

'Why do you waste the few moments that are left you in this manner?'
asked the governor of the island sternly. 'Place the collar you wear
round his neck, and he will be cured at once. But you must act
quickly.'

The princess seemed turned to stone as she listened. 'The collar!'
she gasped. 'But I have not got it, I lost it in the forest!' And the
thousand sheaths with which the walls were hung took up the cry:

'The collar is lost! The collar is lost!'

  [Illustration: THE PRINCESS SAVES THE WHITE FOX]

'What collar are you talking about?' asked the king, who was lying on
another bed, with the physicians bending over him. 'Here is one that I
picked up among some cinders, before that madman shot me--perhaps it
may be the one you want, or, at all events, it may do as well.' And he
signed to an attendant to take the collar from the pocket of his
velvet jerkin.

The princess leapt forward with joy at the sight of the precious
thing, and snatching it from the hand of the man she placed it round
the neck of the fox. All present held their breath as they watched
what was happening; and what _did_ happen was that his legs grew
longer and longer, and his nose grew shorter and shorter. The fox was
gone, and in his stead there lay Perarthrites, in a coat of thick
white fur.

But though the prince of Lombardy was rejoiced to see his friend and
cousin again, his heart still bled for the beautiful lady who had
vanished so mysteriously. His face was so troubled that the governor
of the island marked it, and asked what was the matter. 'Oh! help me,
if you can,' cried the prince. 'The thought of the sufferings that the
enchanted nymph may be undergoing tortures me!'

'They are far worse than you can imagine,' gravely replied the
governor; 'but if you still possess your comb, you may yet relieve her
of them. Ah! that is well,' he continued, as the prince quickly drew
the comb from its case. 'Now follow me.'

Not only the prince, but every one else followed; and the governor led
them down a long gallery to a heavy iron door, which flew open at its
own accord. But what a sight met the prince's eyes! The lady whom he
had last beheld in peerless beauty was sitting in a chair wrapped in
flames, which were twisting like hair about her head. Her face was
swollen and red; her mouth was open as if gasping for breath. Only her
arms and neck were as lovely as ever in their whiteness.

'This is your doing,' said the governor to the prince; 'you brought
her to this when you burnt the crocodile's skin. Now try if, by
combing, you can soothe her agony.'

At the first touch of the comb the flames became suddenly
extinguished; at the second, the look of pain vanished from the face,
and it shrank into its usual size; at the third, she rose from the
chair, lovelier than she ever was before, and flung herself into the
arms of her brother Perarthrites.

       *       *       *       *       *

After this there was nothing more to be done but to marry the two
couples as fast as possible. And when the wedding was over,
Perarthrites and his bride returned to Placenza, and Ferrandina and
her husband to Lombardy, and they all lived happily till they died.

(From Count Anthony Hamilton's _Fairy Tales_.)




_THE THANKSGIVING OF THE WAZIR_


Once upon a time there lived in Hindustan two kings whose countries
bordered upon each other; but, as they were rivals in wealth and
power, and one was a Hindu rajah and the other a Mohammedan bâdshah,
they were not good friends at all. In order, however, to escape
continual quarrels, the rajah and the bâdshah had drawn up an
agreement, stamped and signed, declaring that if any of their
subjects, from the least to the greatest, crossed the boundary between
the two kingdoms, he might be seized and punished.

One morning the bâdshah and his chief wazir, or prime minister, were
just about to begin their morning's work over the affairs of the
kingdom, and the bâdshah had taken up a pen and was cutting it to his
liking with a sharp knife, when the knife slipped and cut off the tip
of his finger.

'Oh-he, wazir!' cried the king, 'I've cut the tip of my finger off!'

'That is good hearing!' said the wazir in answer.

'Insolent one,' exclaimed the king. 'Do you take pleasure in the
misfortunes of others, and in mine also? Take him away, my guards, and
put him in the court prison until I have time to punish him as he
deserves!'

Instantly the officers in attendance seized upon the luckless wazir,
and dragged him out of the king's presence towards the narrow doorway,
through which unhappy criminals were wont to be led to prison or
execution. As the door opened to receive him, the wazir muttered
something into his great white beard which the soldiers could not
hear.

'What said the rascal?' shouted the angry king.

He says, 'he thanks your majesty,' replied one of the gaolers. And at
his words, the king stared at the closing door, in anger and
amazement.

'He must be mad,' he cried, 'for he is grateful, not only for the
misfortunes of others, but for his own; surely something has turned
his head!'

Now the king was very fond of his old wazir, and although the court
physician came and bound up his injured finger with cool and healing
ointment, and soothed the pain, he could not soothe the soreness of
the king's heart, nor could any of all his ministers and courtiers,
who found his majesty very cross all the day long.

Early next morning the king ordered his horse and declared that he
would go hunting. Instantly all was bustle and preparation in stable
and hall, and by the time he was ready a score of ministers and
huntsmen stood ready to mount and accompany him; but to their
astonishment the king would have none of them. Indeed, he glared at
them so fiercely that they were glad to leave him. So away and away he
wandered, over field and through forest, so moody and thoughtful that
many a fat buck and gaudy pheasant escaped without notice, and so
careless was he whither he was going that he strayed without
perceiving it over into the rajah's territory, and only discovered the
fact when, suddenly, men stepped from all sides out of a thicket, and
there was nothing left but surrender. Then the poor bâdshah was seized
and bound and taken to the rajah's prison, thinking most of the time
of his wazir, who was suffering a similar fate, and wishing that, like
the wazir, he could feel that there was something to give thanks for.

That night the rajah held a special council to consider what should
be done to his rival who had thus given himself into his hands. All
the Brahmans were sent for--fat priests who understood all about
everything, and what days were lucky and what unlucky--and, whilst all
the rest of the rajah's councillors were offering him different advice
until he was nearly crazy with anger and indecision, the chief Brahman
was squatting in a corner figuring out sums and signs to himself with
an admiring group of lesser priests around him. At last he arose, and
advanced towards the throne.

'Well,' said the rajah anxiously, 'what have you to advise?'

'A very unlucky day!' exclaimed the chief Brahman. 'Oh, a very unlucky
day! The god Devi is full of wrath, and commands that to-morrow you
must chop off this bâdshah's head and offer it in to him in
sacrifice.'

'Ah, well,' said the rajah, 'let it be done. I leave it to you to
carry out the sentence.' And he bowed to the priests and left the
room.

Before dawn great preparations were being made for a grand festival in
honour of the great idol Devi. Hundreds of banners waved, hundreds of
drummers drummed, hundreds of singers chanted chants, hundreds of
priests, well washed and anointed, performed their sacred rites,
whilst the rajah sat, nervous and ill at ease, amongst hundreds of
courtiers and servants, wishing it were all well over. At last the
time came for the sacrifice to be offered, and the poor bâdshah was
led out bound, to have his head chopped off.

The chief Brahman came along with a smile on his face, and a big sword
in his hand, when, suddenly, he noticed that the bâdshah's finger was
tied up in a bit of rag. Instantly he dropped the sword, and, with his
eyes starting out of his head with excitement, pounced upon the rag
and tore it off, and there he saw that the tip of his victim's finger
was missing. At this he got very red and angry indeed, and he led the
bâdshah up to where the rajah sat wondering.

'Behold! O rajah,' he said, 'this sacrifice is useless, the tip of his
finger is gone! A sacrifice is no sacrifice unless it is complete.'
And he began to weep with rage and mortification.

But of instead of wailing likewise, the rajah gave a sigh of relief,
and answered: 'Well, that settles the matter. If it had been anyone
else I should not have minded; but, somehow--a king and all--well, it
doesn't seem quite right to sacrifice a king.' And with that he jumped
up and with his jewelled dagger cut the bâdshah's cords, and marched
with him out of the temple back to the palace.

After having bathed and refreshed his guest, the rajah loaded him with
gifts, and himself accompanied him with a large escort as far as the
frontier between their kingdoms, where, amidst salutes and great
rejoicings, they tore up the old agreement and drew up another in
which each king promised welcome and safe conduct to any of the
other's people, from the least to the greatest, who came over the
border on any errand whatever. And so they embraced, and each went his
own way.

When the bâdshah got home that very evening he sent for his imprisoned
wazir.

'Well, O wazir!' he said, when the old man had been brought before
him, 'what think you has been happening to me?'

'How can a man in prison know what is happening outside it?' answered
the wazir.

Then the bâdshah told him all his adventures. And when he had reached
the end he added:

'I have made up my mind, as a token of gratitude for my escape, to
pardon you freely, if you will tell me why you gave thanks when I cut
off the tip of my finger.'

'Sire,' replied the old wazir, 'am I not right in thinking that it
was a very lucky thing for you that you _did_ cut off the tip of your
finger, for otherwise you would certainly have lost your head. And to
lose a scrap of one's finger is surely the least of the two evils.'

'Very true,' answered the king, touching his head as he spoke, as if
to make quite certain that it was still there, 'but yet--why did you
likewise give thanks when I put you into prison?'

'I gave thanks,' said the wazir, 'because it is good always to give
thanks. And had I known that my being in prison was to prevent the god
Devi claiming me instead of your majesty, as a perfect offering, I
should have given greater thanks still.'

(Punjâbi story.)




_SAMBA THE COWARD_


In the great country far away south, through which flows the river
Nile, there lived a king who had an only child called Samba.

Now, from the time that Samba could walk he showed signs of being
afraid of everything, and as he grew bigger he became more and more
frightened. At first his father's friends made light of it, and said
to each other:

'It is strange to see a boy of our race running into a hut at the
trumpeting of an elephant, and trembling with fear if a lion cub half
his size comes near him; but, after all, he is only a baby, and when
he is older he will be as brave as the rest.'

'Yes, he is only a baby,' answered the king who overheard them, 'it
will be all right by-and-by.' But, somehow, he sighed as he said it,
and the men looked at him and made no reply.

The years passed away, and Samba had become a tall and strong youth.
He was good-natured and pleasant, and was liked by all, and if during
his father's hunting parties he was seldom to be seen in any place of
danger, he was too great a favourite for much to be said.

'When the king holds the feast and declares him to be his heir, he
will cease to be a child,' murmured the rest of the people, as they
had done before; and on the day of the ceremony their hearts beat
gladly, and they cried to each other:

'It is Samba, Samba, whose chin is above the heads of other men, who
will defend us against the tribes of the robbers!'

       *       *       *       *       *

Not many weeks after, the dwellers in the village awoke to find that
during the night their herds had been driven away, and their herdsmen
carried off into slavery by their enemies. Now was the time for Samba
to show the brave spirit that had come to him with his manhood, and to
ride forth at the head of the warriors of his race. But Samba could
nowhere be found, and a party of the avengers went on their way
without him.

It was many days later before he came back, with his head held high,
and a tale of a lion which he had tracked to its lair and killed, at
the risk of his own life. A little while earlier and his people would
have welcomed his story, and believed it all, but now it was too late.

'Samba the Coward,' cried a voice from the crowd; and the name stuck
to him, even the very children shouted it at him, and his father did
not spare him. At length he could bear it no longer, and made up his
mind to leave his own land for another where peace had reigned since
the memory of man. So, early next morning, he slipped out to the
king's stables, and choosing the quietest horse he could find, he rode
away northwards.

Never as long as he lived did Samba forget the terrors of that
journey. He could hardly sleep at night for dread of the wild beasts
that might be lurking behind every rock or bush, while, by day, the
distant roar of a lion would cause him to start so violently, that he
almost fell from his horse. A dozen times he was on the point of
turning back, and it was not the terror of the mocking words and
scornful laughs that kept him from doing so, but the terror lest he
should be forced to take part in their wars. Therefore he held on, and
deeply thankful he felt when the walls of a city, larger than he had
ever dreamed of, rose before him.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he rode proudly through the
gate and past the palace, where, as was her custom, the princess was
sitting on the terrace roof, watching the bustle in the street below.

'That is a gallant figure,' thought she, as Samba, mounted on his big
black horse, steered his way skilfully among the crowds; and,
beckoning to a slave, she ordered him to go and meet the stranger, and
ask him who he was and whence he came.

'Oh, princess, he is the son of a king, and heir to a country which
lies near the Great River,' answered the slave, when he had returned
from questioning Samba. And the princess on hearing this news summoned
her father, and told him that if she was not allowed to wed the
stranger she would die unmarried.

Like many other fathers, the king could refuse his daughter nothing,
and besides, she had rejected so many suitors already that he was
quite alarmed lest no man should be good enough for her. Therefore,
after a talk with Samba, who charmed him by his good humour and
pleasant ways, he gave his consent, and three days later the wedding
feast was celebrated with the utmost splendour.

The princess was very proud of her tall handsome husband, and for some
time she was quite content that he should pass the days with her under
the palm trees, telling her the stories that she loved, or amusing her
with tales of the manners and customs of his country, which were so
different to those of her own. But, by-and-by, this was not enough;
she wanted other people to be proud of him too, and one day she said:

'I really almost wish that those Moorish thieves from the north would
come on one of their robbing expeditions. I should love so to see you
ride out at the head of our men, to chase them home again. Ah, how
happy I should be when the city rang with your noble deeds!'

  [Illustration: SAMBA FOUND SKULKING BY HIS WIFE]

She looked lovingly at him as she spoke; but, to her surprise, his
face grew dark, and he answered hastily:

'Never speak to me again of the Moors or of war. It was to escape from
them that I fled from my own land, and at the first word of invasion I
should leave you for ever.'

'How funny you are,' cried she, breaking into a laugh. 'The idea of
anyone as big as you being afraid of a Moor! But still, you mustn't
say those things to anyone except me, or they might think you were in
earnest.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Not very long after this, when the people of the city were holding a
great feast outside the walls of the town, a body of Moors, who had
been in hiding for days, drove off all the sheep and goats which were
peacefully feeding on the slopes of a hill. Directly the loss was
discovered, which was not for some hours, the king gave orders that
the war drum should be beaten, and the warriors assembled in the great
square before the palace, trembling with fury at the insult which had
been put upon them. Loud were the cries for instant vengeance, and for
Samba, son-in-law of the king, to lead them to battle. But shout as
they might, Samba never came.

And where was he? No further than in a cool, dark cellar of the
palace, crouching among huge earthenware pots of grain. With a rush of
pain at her heart, there his wife found him, and she tried with all
her strength to kindle in him a sense of shame, but in vain. Even the
thought of the future danger he might run from the contempt of his
subjects was as nothing when compared with the risks of the present.

'Take off your tunic of mail,' said the princess at last; and her
voice was so stern and cold that none would have known it. 'Give it to
me, and hand me besides your helmet, your sword and your spear.' And
with many fearful glances to right and to left, Samba stripped off
the armour inlaid with gold, the property of the king's son-in-law.
Silently his wife took, one by one, the pieces from him, and fastened
them on her with firm hands, never even glancing at the tall form of
her husband who had slunk back to his corner. When she had fastened
the last buckle, and lowered her vizor, she went out, and mounting
Samba's horse, gave the signal to the warriors to follow.

Now, although the princess was much shorter than her husband, she was
a tall woman, and the horse which she rode was likewise higher than
the rest, so that when the men caught sight of the gold-inlaid suit of
chain armour, they did not doubt that Samba was taking his rightful
place, and cheered him loudly. The princess bowed in answer to their
greeting, but kept her vizor down; and touching her horse with the
spur, she galloped at the head of her troops to charge the enemy. The
Moors, who had not expected to be so quickly pursued, had scarcely
time to form themselves into battle array, and were speedily put to
flight. Then the little troop of horsemen returned to the city, where
all sung the praises of Samba their leader.

The instant they reached the palace the princess flung her reins to a
groom, and disappeared up a side staircase, by which she could,
unseen, enter her own rooms. Here she found Samba lying idly on a heap
of mats; but he raised his head uneasily as the door opened and looked
at his wife, not feeling sure how she might act towards him. However,
he need not have been afraid of harsh words: she merely unbuttoned her
armour as fast as possible, and bade him put it on with all speed.
Samba obeyed, not daring to ask any questions; and when he had
finished the princess told him to follow her, and led him on to the
flat roof of the house, below which a crowd had gathered, cheering
lustily.

'Samba, the king's son-in-law! Samba, the bravest of the brave! Where
is he? Let him show himself!' And when Samba did show himself the
shouts and applause became louder than ever. 'See how modest he is! He
leaves the glory to others!' cried they. And Samba only smiled and
waved his hand, and said nothing.

Out of all the mass of people assembled there to do honour to Samba,
one alone there was who did not shout and praise with the rest. This
was the princess's youngest brother, whose sharp eyes had noted
certain things during the fight which recalled his sister much more
than they did her husband. Under promise of secrecy, he told his
suspicions to the other princes, but only got laughed at, and was
bidden to carry his dreams elsewhere.

'Well, well,' answered the boy, 'we shall see who is right; but the
next time we give battle to the Moors I will take care to place a
private mark on our commander.'

In spite of their defeat, not many days after the Moors sent a fresh
body of troops to steal some cattle, and again Samba's wife dressed
herself in her husband's armour, and rode out at the head of the
avenging column. This time the combat was fiercer than before, and in
the thick of it her youngest brother drew near, and gave his sister a
slight wound on the leg. At the moment she paid no heed to the pain,
which, indeed, she scarcely felt; but when the enemy had been put to
flight and the little band returned to the palace, faintness suddenly
overtook her, and she could hardly stagger up the staircase to her own
apartments.

'I am wounded,' she cried, sinking down on the mats where he had been
lying, 'but do not be anxious; it is really nothing. You have only got
to wound yourself slightly in the same spot and no one will guess that
it was I and not you who were fighting.'

'What!' cried Samba, his eyes nearly starting from his head in
surprise and terror. 'Can you possibly imagine that I should agree to
anything so useless and painful? Why, I might as well have gone to
fight myself!'

'Ah, I ought to have known better, indeed,' answered the princess, in
a voice that seemed to come from a long way off; but, quick as
thought, the moment Samba turned his back she pierced one of his bare
legs with a spear.

He gave a loud scream and staggered backwards, from astonishment, much
more than from pain. But before he could speak his wife had left the
room and had gone to seek the medicine man of the palace.

'My husband has been wounded,' said she, when she had found him, 'come
and tend him with speed, for he is faint from loss of blood.' And she
took care that more than one person heard her words, so that all that
day the people pressed up to the gate of the palace, asking for news
of their brave champion.

'You see,' observed the king's eldest sons, who had visited the room
where Samba lay groaning, 'you see, O wise young brother, that we were
right and you were wrong about Samba, and that he really _did_ go into
the battle.' But the boy answered nothing, and only shook his head
doubtfully.

It was only two days later that the Moors appeared for the third time,
and though the herds had been tethered in a new and safer place, they
were promptly carried off as before. 'For,' said the Moors to each
other, 'the tribe will never think of our coming back so soon when
they have beaten us so badly.'

When the drum sounded to assemble all the fighting men, the princess
rose and sought her husband.

'Samba,' cried she, 'my wound is worse than I thought. I can scarcely
walk, and could not mount my horse without help. For to-day, then, I
cannot do your work, so you must go instead of me.'

'What nonsense,' exclaimed Samba, 'I never heard of such a thing.
Why, I might be wounded, or even killed! You have three brothers. The
king can choose one of them.'

'They are all too young,' replied his wife; 'the men would not obey
them. But if, indeed, you will not go, at least you can help me
harness my horse.' And to this Samba, who was always ready to do
anything he was asked when there was no danger about it, agreed
readily.

So the horse was quickly harnessed, and when it was done the princess
said:

'Now ride the horse to the place of meeting outside the gates, and I
will join you by a shorter way, and will change places with you.'
Samba, who loved riding in times of peace, mounted as she had told
him, and when he was safe in the saddle, his wife dealt the horse a
sharp cut with her whip, and he dashed off through the town and
through the ranks of the warriors who were waiting for him. Instantly
the whole place was in motion. Samba tried to check his steed, but he
might as well have sought to stop the wind, and it seemed no more than
a few minutes before they were grappling hand to hand with the Moors.

Then a miracle happened. Samba the coward, the skulker, the terrified,
no sooner found himself pressed hard, unable to escape, than something
sprang into life within him, and he fought with all his might. And
when a man of his size and strength begins to fight he generally
fights well.

That day the victory was really owing to Samba, and the shouts of the
people were louder than ever. When he returned, bearing with him the
sword of the Moorish chief, the old king pressed him in his arms and
said:

'Oh, my son, how can I ever show you how grateful I am for this
splendid service?'

But Samba, who was good and loyal when fear did not possess him,
answered straightly:

'My father, it is to your daughter and not to me to whom thanks are
due, for it is she who has turned the coward that I was into a brave
man.'

(_Contes Soudainais._ Par C. Monteil.)




_KUPTI AND IMANI_


Once there was a king who had two daughters; and their names were
Kupti and Imani. He loved them both very much, and spent hours in
talking to them, and one day he said to Kupti, the elder:

'Are you satisfied to leave your life and fortune in my hands?'

'Verily yes,' answered the princess, surprised at the question. 'In
whose hands should I leave them, if not in yours?'

But when he asked his younger daughter Imani the same question, she
replied:

'No, indeed! If I had the chance I would make my own fortune.'

At this answer the king was very displeased, and said:

'You are too young to know the meaning of your words. But, be it so; I
will give you the chance of gratifying your wish.'

Then he sent for an old lame fakir who lived in a tumbledown hut on
the outskirts of the city, and when he had presented himself, the king
said:

'No doubt, as you are very old and nearly crippled, you would be glad
of some young person to live with you and serve you; so I will send
you my younger daughter. She wants to earn her living, and she can do
so with you.'

Of course the old fakir had not a word to say, or, if he had, he was
really too astonished and troubled to say it; but the young princess
went off with him smiling, and tripped along quite gaily, whilst he
hobbled home with her in perplexed silence.

Directly they got to the hut the fakir began to think what he could
arrange for the princess's comfort; but after all he was a fakir, and
his house was bare except for one bedstead, two old cooking pots and
an earthen jar for water, and one cannot get much comfort out of those
things. However, the princess soon ended his perplexity by asking:

'Have you any money?'

'I have a penny somewhere,' replied the fakir.

'Very well,' rejoined the princess, 'give me the penny and go out and
borrow me a spinning-wheel and a loom.'

After much seeking the fakir found the penny and started on his
errand, whilst the princess went off shopping. First she bought a
farthing's worth of oil, and then she bought three farthings' worth of
flax. When she got back with her purchases she set the old man on the
bedstead and rubbed his crippled leg with the oil for an hour. Then
she sat down to the spinning-wheel and spun and spun all night long
whilst the old man slept, until, in the morning, she had spun the
finest thread that ever was seen. Next she went to the loom and wove
and wove until by the evening she had woven a beautiful silver cloth.

'Now,' said she to the fakir, 'go into the market-place and sell my
cloth whilst I rest.'

'And what am I to ask for it?' said the old man.

'Two gold pieces,' replied the princess.

So the fakir hobbled away, and stood in the market-place to sell the
cloth. Presently the elder princess drove by, and when she saw the
cloth she stopped and asked the price.

'Two gold pieces,' said the fakir. And the princess gladly paid them,
after which the old fakir hobbled home with the money. As she had
done before so Imani did again day after day. Always she spent a penny
upon oil and flax, always she tended the old man's lame limb, and spun
and wove the most beautiful cloths and sold them at high prices.
Gradually the city became famous for her beautiful stuffs, the old
fakir's lame leg became straighter and stronger, and the hole under
the floor of the hut where they kept their money became fuller and
fuller of gold pieces. At last, one day, the princess said:

  [Illustration: IMANI ATTENDS TO THE CRIPPLED FAKIR]

'I really think we have got enough to live in greater comfort.' And
she sent for builders, and they built a beautiful house for her and
the old fakir, and in all the city there was none finer except the
king's palace. Presently this reached the ears of the king, and when
he inquired whose it was they told him that it belonged to his
daughter.

'Well,' exclaimed the king, 'she said that she would make her own
fortune, and somehow or other she seems to have done it!'

A little while after this, business took the king to another country,
and before he went he asked his elder daughter what she would like him
to bring her back as a gift.

'A necklace of rubies,' answered she. And then the king thought he
would like to ask Imani too; so he sent a messenger to find out what
sort of a present she wanted. The man happened to arrive just as she
was trying to disentangle a knot in her loom, and bowing low before
her, he said:

'The king sends me to inquire what you wish him to bring you as a
present from the country of Dûr?' But Imani, who was only considering
how she could best untie the knot without breaking the thread,
replied:

'Patience!' meaning that the messenger should wait till she was able
to attend to him. But the messenger went off with this as an answer,
and told the king that the only thing the princess Imani wanted was
'patience.'

'Oh!' said the king, 'I don't know whether that's a thing to be bought
at Dûr; I never had it myself, but if it is to be got I will buy it
for her.'

Next day the king departed on his journey, and when his business at
Dûr was completed he bought for Kupti a beautiful ruby necklace. Then
he said to a servant:

'The princess Imani wants some patience. I did not know there was such
a thing, but you must go to the market and inquire, and if any is to
be sold, get it and bring it to me.'

The servant saluted and left the king's presence. He walked about the
market for some time crying: 'Has anyone patience to sell? patience to
sell?' And some of the people mocked, and some (who had no patience)
told him to go away and not be a fool; and some said: 'The fellow's
mad! As though one could buy or sell patience!'

At length it came to the ears of the king of Dûr that there was a
madman in the market trying to buy patience. And the king laughed and
said:

'I should like to see that fellow, bring him here!'

And immediately his attendants went to seek the man, and brought him
to the king, who asked:

'What is this you want?'

And the man replied: 'Sire! I am bidden to ask for patience.'

'Oh,' said the king, 'you must have a strange master! What does he
want with it?'

'My master wants it as a present for his daughter Imani,' replied the
servant.

'Well,' said the king, 'I know of some patience which the young lady
might have if she cares for it; but it is not to be bought.'

Now the king's name was Subbar Khan, and Subbar _means_ 'patience';
but the messenger did not know that, or understand that he was making
a joke. However, he declared that the princess Imani was not only
young and beautiful, but also the cleverest, most industrious, and
kindest-hearted of princesses; and he would have gone on explaining
her virtues had not the king laughingly put up his hand and stopped
him saying:

'Well, well, wait a minute, and I will see what can be done.'

With that he got up and went to his own apartments and took out a
little casket. Into the casket he put a fan, and shutting it up
carefully he brought it to the messenger and said:

'Here is a casket. It has no lock nor key, and yet will open only to
the touch of the person who needs its contents--and whoever opens it
will obtain patience; but I can't tell whether it will be quite the
kind of patience that is wanted.' And the servant bowed low, and took
the casket; but when he asked what was to be paid, the king would take
nothing. So he went away and gave the casket and an account of his
adventures to his master.

As soon as their father got back to his country Kupti and Imani each
got the presents he had brought for them. Imani was very surprised
when the casket was brought to her by the hand of a messenger.

'But,' she said, 'what is this? I never asked for anything! Indeed I
had no time, for the messenger ran away before I had unravelled my
tangle.'

But the servant declared that the casket was for her, so she took it
with some curiosity, and brought it to the old fakir. The old man
tried to open it, but in vain--so closely did the lid fit that it
seemed to be quite immovable, and yet there was no lock, nor bolt, nor
spring, nor anything apparently by which the casket was kept shut.
When he was tired of trying he handed the casket to the princess, who
hardly touched it before it opened quite easily, and there lay within
a beautiful fan. With a cry of surprise and pleasure Imani took out
the fan, and began to fan herself.

Hardly had she finished three strokes of the fan before there suddenly
appeared from nowhere in particular, king Subbar Khan of Dûr! The
princess gasped and rubbed her eyes, and the old fakir sat and gazed
in such astonishment that for some minutes he could not speak. At
length he said:

'Who may you be, fair sir, if you please?'

'My name,' said the king, 'is Subbar Khan of Dûr. This lady,' bowing
to the princess, 'has summoned me, and here I am!'

'I?'--stammered the princess--'I have summoned you? I never saw or
heard of you in my life before, so how could that be?'

Then the king told them how he had heard of a man in his own city of
Dûr trying to buy patience, and how he had given him the fan in the
casket.

'Both are magical,' he added; 'when anyone uses the fan, in three
strokes of it I am with them; if they fold it and tap it on the table,
in three taps I am at home again. The casket will not open to all, but
you see it was this fair lady who asked for patience, and, as that is
my name, here I am, very much at her service.'

Now the princess Imani, being of a high spirit, was anxious to fold up
the fan, and give the three taps which would send the king home again;
but the old fakir was very pleased with his guest, and so in one way
and another they spent quite a pleasant evening together before Subbar
Khan took his leave.

After that he was often summoned; and as both the fakir and he were
very fond of chess and were good players, they used to sit up half the
night playing, and at last a little room in the house began to be
called the king's room, and whenever he stayed late he used to sleep
there and go home again in the morning.

By-and-by it came to the ears of the princess Kupti that there was a
rich and handsome young man visiting at her sister's house, and she
was very jealous. So she went one day to pay Imani a visit, and
pretended to be very affectionate, and interested in the house, and in
the way in which Imani and the old fakir lived, and of their
mysterious and royal visitor. As the sisters went from place to place,
Kupti was shown Subbar Khan's room; and presently, making some excuse,
she slipped in there by herself and swiftly spread under the sheet
which lay upon the bed a quantity of very finely powdered and
splintered glass which was poisoned, and which she had brought with
her concealed in her clothes. Shortly afterwards she took leave of her
sister, declaring that she could never forgive herself for not having
come near her all this time, and that she would now begin to make
amends for her neglect.

That very evening Subbar Khan came and sat up late with the old fakir
playing chess as usual. Very tired, he at length bade him and the
princess good-night and, as soon as he lay down on the bed, thousands
of tiny, tiny splinters of poisoned glass ran into him. He could not
think what was the matter, and started this way and that until he was
pricked all over, and he felt as though he were burning from head to
foot. But he never said a word, only he sat up all night in agony of
body and in worse agony of mind to think that he should have been
poisoned, as he guessed he was, in Imani's own house. In the morning,
although he was nearly fainting, he still said nothing, and by means
of the magic fan was duly transported home again. Then he sent for all
the physicians and doctors in his kingdom, but none could make out
what his illness was; and so he lingered on for weeks and weeks trying
every remedy that anyone could devise, and passing sleepless nights
and days of pain and fever and misery, until at last he was at the
point of death.

Meanwhile the princess Imani and the old fakir were much troubled
because, although they waved the magic fan again and again, no Subbar
Khan appeared, and they feared that he had tired of them, or that some
evil fate had overtaken him. At last the princess was in such a
miserable state of doubt and uncertainty that she determined to go
herself to the kingdom of Dûr and see what was the matter. Disguising
herself in man's clothes as a young fakir, she set out upon her
journey alone and on foot, as a fakir should travel. One evening she
found herself in a forest, and lay down under a great tree to pass the
night. But she could not sleep for thinking of Subbar Khan, and
wondering what had happened to him. Presently she heard two great
monkeys talking to one another in the tree above her head.

'Good evening, brother,' said one, 'whence come you--and what is the
news?'

  [Illustration: IMANI LISTENS TO WHAT THE MONKEYS SAY]

'I come from Dûr,' said the other, 'and the news is that the king is
dying.'

'Oh,' said the first, 'I'm sorry to hear that, for he is a master hand
at slaying leopards and creatures that ought not to be allowed to
live. What is the matter with him?'

'No man knows,' replied the second monkey, 'but the birds, who see all
and carry all messages, say that he is dying of poisoned glass that
Kupti the king's daughter spread upon his bed.'

'Ah!' said the first monkey, 'that is sad news; but if they only knew
it, the berries of the very tree we sit in, steeped in hot water, will
cure such a disease as that in three days at most.'

'True!' said the other, 'it's a pity that we can't tell some man of a
medicine so simple, and so save a good man's life. But men are so
silly; they go and shut themselves up in stuffy houses in stuffy
cities instead of living in nice airy trees, and so they miss knowing
all the best things.'

Now when Imani heard that Subbar Khan was dying she began to weep
silently; but as she listened she dried her tears and sat up; and as
soon as daylight dawned over the forest she began to gather the
berries from the tree until she had filled her cloth with a load of
them. Then she walked on as fast as she could, and in two days reached
the city of Dûr. The first thing she did was to pass through the
market crying:

'Medicine for sale! Are any ill that need my medicine?' And presently
one man said to his neighbour:

'See, there is a young fakir with medicine for sale, perhaps he could
do something for the king.'

'Pooh!' replied the other, 'where so many grey-beards have failed, how
should a lad like that be of any use?'

'Still,' said the first, 'he might try.' And he went up and spoke to
Imani, and together they set out for the palace and announced that
another doctor was come to try and cure the king.

After some delay Imani was admitted to the sick room, and, whilst
_she_ was so well disguised that the king did not recognize her, _he_
was so wasted by illness that she hardly knew _him_. But she began at
once, full of hope, by asking for some apartments all to herself and a
pot in which to boil water. As soon as the water was heated she
steeped some of her berries in it and gave the mixture to the king's
attendants and told them to wash his body with it. The first washing
did so much good that the king slept quietly all the night. Again the
second day she did the same, and this time the king declared he was
hungry, and called for food. After the third day he was quite well,
only very weak from his long illness. On the fourth day he got up and
sat upon his throne, and then sent messengers to fetch the physician
who had cured him. When Imani appeared everyone marvelled that so
young a man should be so clever a doctor; and the king wanted to give
him immense presents of money and of all kinds of precious things. At
first Imani would take nothing, but at last she said that, if she must
be rewarded, she would ask for the king's signet ring and his
handkerchief. So, as she would take nothing more, the king gave her
his signet ring and his handkerchief, and she departed and travelled
back to her own country as fast as she could.

A little while after her return, when she had related to the fakir all
her adventures, they sent for Subbar Khan by means of the magic fan;
and when he appeared they asked him why he had stayed away for so
long. Then he told them all about his illness, and how he had been
cured, and when he had finished the princess rose up and, opening a
cabinet, brought out the ring and handkerchief, and said, laughing:

'Are these the rewards you gave to your doctor?'

At that the king looked, and he recognised her, and understood in a
moment all that had happened; and he jumped up and put the magic fan
in his pocket, and declared that no one should send him away to his
own country any more unless Imani would come with him and be his wife.
And so it was settled, and the old fakir and Imani went to the city of
Dûr, where Imani was married to the king and lived happily ever after.

(Punjâbi story.)




_THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE MAIA_


Once upon a time there lived a woman who had a pretty cottage and
garden right in the middle of a forest. All through the summer she was
quite happy tending her flowers and listening to the birds singing in
the trees, but in the winter, when snow lay on the ground and wolves
came howling about the door, she felt very lonely and frightened. 'If
I only had a child to speak to, however small, what a comfort it would
be!' she said to herself. And the heavier the snow fell the oftener
she repeated the words. And at last a day arrived when she could bear
the silence and solitude no longer, and set off to walk to the nearest
village to beg someone to sell her or lend her a child.

The snow was very deep, and reached above her ankles, and it took her
almost an hour to go a few hundred yards.

'It will be dark at this rate before I get to the first house,'
thought she, and stopped to look about her. Suddenly a little woman in
a high-crowned hat stepped from behind a tree in front of her.

'This is a bad day for walking! Are you going far?' inquired the
little woman.

'Well, I want to go to the village; but I don't see how I am ever to
get there,' answered the other.

'And may I ask what important business takes you there?' asked the
little woman, who was really a witch.

'My house is so dreary, with no one to speak to; I cannot stay in it
alone, and I am seeking for a child--I don't mind how small she
is--who will keep me company.'

'Oh, if that is all, you need go no further,' replied the witch,
putting her hand in her pocket. 'Look, here is a barley corn, as a
favour you shall have it for twelve shillings, and if you plant it in
a flower-pot, and give it plenty of water, in a few days you will see
something wonderful.'

This promise raised the woman's spirits. She gladly paid down the
price, and as soon as she returned home she dug a hole in a flower-pot
and put in the seed.

For three days she waited, hardly taking her eyes from the flower-pot
in its warm corner, and on the third morning she saw that, while she
was asleep, a tall red tulip had shot up, sheathed in green leaves.

'What a beautiful blossom,' cried the woman, stooping to kiss it,
when, as she did so, the red petals burst asunder, and in the midst of
them was a lovely little girl only an inch high. This tiny little
creature was seated on a mattress of violets, and covered with a quilt
of rose leaves, and she opened her eyes and smiled at the woman as if
she had known her all her life.

'Oh! you darling; I shall never be lonely any more!' she exclaimed in
rapture; and the baby nodded her head as much as to say:

'No, of course you won't!'

The woman lost no time in seeking for a roomy walnut-shell, which she
lined thickly with white satin, and on it she placed the mattress,
with the child, whom she called Maia, upon it. This was her bed, and
stood on a chair close to where her foster-mother was sleeping; but in
the morning she was lifted out, and placed on a leaf in the middle of
a large bowl of water, and given two white horse-hairs to row herself
about with. She was the happiest baby that ever was seen, and passed
the whole day singing to herself, in a language of her own, that
nobody else could understand.

       *       *       *       *       *

For some weeks the two lived together and never grew tired of each
other's society, and then a terrible misfortune happened. One night,
when the foster-mother lay sound asleep after a hard day's work, a
big, ugly, wet frog hopped in through the open window and stood
staring at Maia under her quilt of rose leaves.

'Dear me! that is quite a pretty little girl,' thought the frog to
herself; 'she would make a nice wife for my son.' And picking up the
walnut cradle in her mouth, she hopped with it to the edge of a stream
which ran through the garden.

'Come and see what I have brought you,' called the old frog, when she
reached her home in the mud.

'Croak! croak! croak!' uttered the son, gazing with pleasure at the
sleeping child.

'Hush; don't make such a noise or you will wake her!' whispered the
mother. 'I mean her to be a wife for you, and while we are preparing
for the wedding we will set her on that water-lily leaf in the middle
of the brook, so that she may not be able to run away from us.'

It was on this green floating prison that Maia awoke, frightened and
puzzled, with the first rays of the sun. She stood up straight on the
leaf, looking about her for a way of escape, and, finding none, she
sat down again and began to weep bitterly. At length her sobs were
heard by the old frog, who was busy in her house at the bottom of the
marsh, twisting rushes into a soft carpet for Maia's feet, and twining
reeds and grapes over the doorway, to make it look pretty for the
bride.

'Ah! the poor child feels lost and unhappy,' she thought pitifully,
for her heart was kind. 'Well, I have just done, and then my son and I
will go to fetch her. When she sees how handsome he is she will be all
smiles again.' And in a few minutes they both appeared beside the
leaf.

'This is your future husband. Did you ever see anyone like him?' asked
the proud mother, pushing him forward. But, after one glance, Maia
only cried the more; and the little fishes who lived in the stream
came swimming round to see what was the matter.

'It is absurd that such a pretty creature should be forced to take a
husband whom she does not want,' said they to each other. 'And such an
ugly one too! However, we can easily prevent it.' And by turns they
gnawed the stem of the lily-leaf close to the root, till at length it
was free, and taking it in their mouths they bore Maia far away, till
the little stream grew into a great river.

Oh, how Maia enjoyed that voyage, when once she became quite certain
that the frogs could no longer reach her. Past many towns she went,
and the people on the banks all turned to look at her, and exclaimed:

'What a lovely little girl! Where can she have come from?'

'What a lovely little girl!' twittered the birds in the bushes. And a
blue butterfly fell in love with her, and would not leave her; so she
took off her sash, which just matched him, and tied it round his body,
so that with this new kind of horse she travelled much faster than
before.

Unluckily, a great cockchafer, who was buzzing over the river,
happened to catch sight of her, and caught her up in his claws. The
poor butterfly was terribly frightened at the sight of him, and he
struggled hard to free himself, so that the sash bow gave way, and he
flew off into the sunshine. But Maia wasn't so fortunate, and though
the cockchafer collected honey from the flowers for her dinner, and
told her several times how pretty she was, she could not feel at ease
with him. The cockchafer noticed this, and summoned his sisters to
play with her; but they only stared rudely, and said:

'Where did you pick up that strange object? She is very ugly to be
sure, but one ought to pity her for she has only two legs.'

'Yes, and no feelers,' added another; 'and she is so thin! Well, our
brother has certainly very odd taste!'

  [Illustration: MAIA CARRIED OFF BY THE COCKCHAFER]

'Indeed he has!' echoed the others. And they repeated it so loud and
so often that, in the end, he believed it too, and snatching her up
from the tree where he had placed her, set her down upon a daisy which
grew near the ground.

Here Maia stayed for the whole summer, and really was not at all
unhappy. She ventured to walk about by herself, and wove herself a bed
of some blades of grass, and placed it under a clover leaf for
shelter. The red cups that grew in the moss held as much dew as she
wanted, and the cockchafer had taught her how to get honey. But summer
does not last for ever, and by-and-by the flowers withered, and
instead of dew there was snow and ice. Maia did not know what to do,
for her clothes were worn to rags, and though she tried to roll
herself up in a dry leaf it broke under her fingers. It soon was plain
to her that if she did not get some other shelter she would die of
hunger and cold.

So, gathering up all her courage, she left the forest and crossed the
road into what had been, in the summer, a beautiful field of waving
corn, but was now only a mass of hard stalks. She wandered on, seeing
nothing but the sky above her head, till she suddenly found herself
close to an opening which seemed to lead underground.

'It will be warm, at any rate,' thought Maia, 'and perhaps the person
who lives there will give me something to eat. At any rate, I can't be
worse off than I am now.' And she walked boldly down the passage.
By-and-by she came to a door which stood ajar, and, peeping in,
discovered a whole room full of corn. This gave her heart, and she
went on more swiftly, till she reached a kitchen where an old field
mouse was baking a cake.

'You poor little animal,' cried the mouse, who had never seen anything
like her before, 'you look starved to death! Come and sit here and get
warm, and share my dinner with me.'

Maia almost wept with joy at the old mouse's kind words. She needed no
second bidding, but ate more than she had ever done in her life,
though it was not a breakfast for a humming-bird! When she had quite
finished she put out her hand and smiled, and the old mouse said to
her:

'Can you tell stories? If so you may stay with me till the sun gets
hot again, and you shall help me with my house. But it is dull here in
the winter unless you have somebody clever enough to amuse you.'

Yes, Maia had learned a great many stories from her foster-mother,
and, besides, there were all her own adventures, and her escapes from
death. She knew also how a room should be swept, and never failed to
get up early in the morning and have everything clean and tidy for the
old mouse.

So the winter passed away pleasantly, and Maia began to talk of the
spring, and of the time when she would have to go out into the world
again and seek her fortune.

'Oh, you need not begin to think of _that_ for a while yet,' answered
the field-mouse. 'Up on the earth they have a proverb:

    When the day lengthens
    Then the cold strengthens;

it has been quite warm up to now, and the snow may fall any time.
Never a winter goes by without it, and _then_ you will be very
thankful you are _here_, and not outside! But I dare say it is quiet
for a young thing like you,' she added, 'and I have invited my
neighbour the mole to come and pay us a visit. He has been asleep all
these months, but I hear he is waking up again. You would be a lucky
girl if he took into his head to marry you, only, unfortunately, he is
blind, and cannot see how pretty you are.' And for this blindness Maia
felt truly glad, as she did not want a mole for a husband.

However, by-and-by he paid his promised visit, and Maia did not like
him at all. He might be as rich and learned as possible, but he hated
the sun, and the trees, and the flowers, and all that Maia loved best.
To be sure, being blind, he had never seen them, and, like many other
people, he thought that anything _he_ did not know was not worth
knowing. But Maia's tales amused him, though he would not for the
world have let her see it, and he admired her voice when she sang:

      Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
      How does your garden grow?

    Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top;

though he told her that it was all nonsense, and that trees and
gardens were mere foolishness. When she was _his_ wife he would teach
her things better worth learning.

'Meanwhile,' he said, with a grand air, 'I have burrowed a passage
from this house to my own, in which you can walk; but I warn you not
to be frightened at a great dead creature that has fallen through a
hole in the roof, and is lying on one side.'

'What sort of creature is it?' asked Maia eagerly.

'Oh, I really can't tell you,' answered the mole, indifferently; 'it
is covered with something soft, and it has two thin legs, and a long
sharp thing sticking out of its head.'

'It is a bird,' cried Maia joyfully, 'and I love birds! It must have
died of cold,' she added, dropping her voice. 'Oh! good Mr. Mole, do
take me to see it!'

'Come then, as I am going home,' replied the mole. And calling to the
old field-mouse to accompany them, they all set out.

'Here it is,' said the mole at last; 'dear me, how thankful I am Fate
did not make me a bird. They can't say anything but "twit, twit," and
die with the first breath of cold.'

'Ah, yes, poor useless creature,' answered the field-mouse. But while
they were talking, Maia crept round to the other side and stroked the
feathers of the little swallow, and kissed his eyes.

All that night she lay awake, thinking of the swallow lying dead in
the passage. At length she could bear it no longer, and stole away to
the place where the hay was kept, and wove a thick carpet. Next she
went to the field-mouse's store of cotton which she picked in the
summer from some of the marsh flowers, and carrying them both down the
passage, she tucked the cotton underneath the bird and spread the hay
quilt over him.

'Perhaps you were one of the swallows who sang to me in the summer,'
said she. 'I wish I could have brought you to life again; but now,
good-bye!' And she laid her face, wet with tears, on the breast of the
bird. Surely she felt a faint movement against her cheek? Yes, there
it was again! Suppose the bird was not dead after all, but only
senseless with cold and hunger! And at this thought Maia hastened back
to the house, and brought some grains of corn, and a drop of water in
a leaf. This she held close to the swallow's beak, which he opened
unconsciously, and when he had sipped the water she gave him the
grains one by one.

'Make no noise, so that no one may guess you are not dead,' she said.
'To-night I will bring you some more food, and I will tell the mole
that he must stuff up the hole again, as it makes the passage too cold
for me to walk in. And now farewell.' And off she went, back to the
field-mouse, who was sound asleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

After some days of Maia's careful nursing, the swallow felt strong
enough to talk, and he told Maia how he came to be in the place where
she found him. Before he was big enough to fly very high he had torn
his wing in a rosebush, so that he could not keep up with his family
and friends when they took their departure to warmer lands. In their
swift course they never noticed that their little brother was not with
them, and at last he dropped on the ground from sheer fatigue, and
must have rolled down the hole into the passage.

It was very lucky for the swallow that both the mole and the
field-mouse thought he was dead, and did not trouble about him, so
that when the spring _really_ came, and the sun was hot, and blue
hyacinths grew in the woods and primroses in the hedges, he was as
tall and strong as any of his companions.

'You have saved my life, dear little Maia,' said he; 'but now the time
has come for me to leave you--unless,' he added, 'you will let me
carry you on my back far away from this gloomy prison.'

Maia's eyes sparkled at the thought, but she shook her head bravely.

'Yes, you must go; but I must stay behind,' she answered. 'The
field-mouse has been good to me, and I cannot desert her like that. Do
you think you can open the hole for yourself?' she asked anxiously.
'If so, you had better begin now, for this evening we are to have
supper with the mole, and it would never do for my foster-mother to
find you working at it.'

'That is true,' answered the swallow. And flying up to the
roof,--which, after all, was not very high above them--he set to work
with his bill, and soon let a flood of sunshine into the dark place.

'_Won't_ you come with me, Maia?' said he. And though her heart longed
for the trees and the flowers, she answered as before:

'No, I cannot.'

That one glimpse of the sun was all Maia had for some time, for the
corn sprung up so thickly over the hole and about the house, that
there might almost as well have been no sun at all. However, though
she missed her bird friend every moment, she had no leisure to be
idle, for the field-mouse had told her that very soon she was to be
married to the mole, and kept her spinning wool and cotton for her
outfit. And as she had never in her life made a dress, four clever
spiders were persuaded to spend the days underground, turning the wool
and cotton into tiny garments. Maia liked the clothes, but hated the
thought of the blind mole, only she did not know how to escape him. In
the evenings, when the spiders were going to their homes for the
night, she would walk with them to the door and wait till a puff of
wind blew the corn ears apart, and she could see the sky.

'If the swallow would only come now,' she said to herself, 'I would
go with him to the end of the world.' But he never came!

'Your outfit is all finished,' said the field-mouse one day when the
berries were red and the leaves yellow, 'and the mole and I have
decided that your wedding shall be in four weeks' time.'

  [Illustration: MAIA AND THE SPIDERS IN THE EVENING]

'Oh, not so soon! not so soon!' cried Maia, bursting into tears; which
made the field-mouse very angry, and declare that Maia had no more
sense than other girls, and did not know what was good for her. Then
the mole arrived, and carried her on his back to see the new house he
had dug for her, which was so very far under ground that Maia's tiny
legs could never bring her up even as high as the field-mouse's
dwelling, from which she might see the sunlight. Her heart grew
heavier and heavier as the days went by, and in the last evening of
all she crept out into the field among the stubble, to watch the sun
set before she bade it good-bye for ever.

'Farewell, farewell,' she said 'and farewell to my little swallow. Ah!
if he only knew, he would come to help me.'

  [Illustration: HE HELPED HER TO JUMP FROM THE SWALLOW'S BACK]

'Twit! twit,' cried a voice just above her; and the swallow fluttered
to the ground beside her. 'You look sad; are you _really_ going to let
that ugly mole marry you?'

'I shall soon die, that is one comfort,' she answered weeping. But the
swallow only said:

'Tut! tut! get on my back, as I told you before, and I will take you
to a land where the sun always shines, and you will soon forget that
such a creature as a mole ever existed.'

'Yes, I will come,' said Maia.

Then the swallow tore off one of the corn stalks with his strong beak,
and bade her tie it safely to his wing. And they started off, flying,
flying south for many a day.

Oh! how happy Maia was to see the beautiful earth again! A hundred
times she longed for the swallow to stop, but he always told her that
the best was yet to be; and they flew on and on, only halting for
short rests, till they reached a place covered with tall white marble
pillars, some standing high, wreathed in vines, out of which endless
swallows' heads were peeping; others lying stretched among the
flowers, white, yellow, and blue.

'I live up there,' said the swallow, pointing to the tallest of the
pillars. 'But such a house would never do for you, as you would only
fall out of it and kill yourself. So choose one of those flowers
below, and you shall have it for your own, and sleep all night curled
up in its leaves.'

'I will have that one,' answered Maia, pointing to a white flower
shaped like a star, with a tiny crinkled wreath of red and yellow in
its centre, and a long stem that swayed in the wind; 'that one is the
prettiest of all, and it smells so sweet.' Then the swallow flew down
towards it; but as they drew near they saw a tiny little manikin with
a crown on his head, and wings on his shoulders, balancing himself on
one of the leaves. 'Ah, that is the king of the flower-spirits,'
whispered the swallow. And the king stretched out his hands to Maia,
and helped her to jump from the swallow's back.

'I have waited for you for a long while,' said he, 'and now you have
come at last to be my queen.'

And Maia smiled, and stood beside him as all the fairies that dwelt in
the flowers ran to fetch presents for her; and the best of them all
was a pair of lovely gauzy blue wings to help fly about like one of
themselves.

So instead of marrying the mole, Little Maia was crowned a queen, and
the fairies danced round her in a ring, while the swallow sang the
wedding song.




_DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND_


In a village in Hindustan there once lived a merchant who, although he
rose early, worked hard, and rested late, remained very poor; and
ill-luck so dogged him that he determined at last to go to some
distant country and there to try his fortune. Twelve years passed by;
his luck had turned, and now he had gathered great wealth, so that
having plenty to keep him in comfort for the rest of his days, he
thought once more of his native village, where he desired to spend the
remainder of his life among his own people. In order to carry his
riches with him in safety over the many weary miles that lay between
him and his home, he bought some magnificent jewels, which he locked
up in a little box and wore concealed upon his person; and, so as not
to draw the attention of the thieves who infested the highways and
made their living by robbing travellers, he started off in the poor
clothes of a man who has nothing to lose.

Thus prepared, he travelled quickly, and within a few days' journey
from his own village came to a city where he determined to buy better
garments and--now that he was no longer afraid of thieves--to look
more like the rich man he had become. In his new raiment he approached
the city, and near the great gate he found a bazaar where, amongst
many shops filled with costly silks, and carpets, and goods of all
countries, was one finer than all the rest. There, amidst his goods,
spread out to the best advantage, sat the owner smoking a long silver
pipe, and thither the merchant bent his steps, and saluting the owner
politely, sat down also and began to make some purchases. Now, the
proprietor of the shop, Beeka Mull by name, was a very shrewd man, and
as he and the merchant conversed, he soon felt sure that his customer
was richer than he seemed, and was trying to conceal the fact. Certain
purchases having been made, he invited the new-comer to refresh
himself and in a short time they were chatting pleasantly together. In
the course of the conversation Beeka Mull asked the merchant whither
he was travelling, and hearing the name of the village, he observed:

'Ah, you had better be careful on that road--it's a very bad place for
thieves.'

The merchant turned pale at these words. It would be such a bitter
thing, he thought, just at the end of his journey to be robbed of all
the fortune he had heaped up with such care. But this bland and
prosperous Beeka Mull must surely know best, so presently he said:

'Lala-ji,[3] could you oblige me by locking up for me a small box for
a short while? When once I get to my village I could bring back
half-a-dozen sturdy men of my own kinsfolk and claim it again.'

The Lala shook his head. 'I could not do it,' replied he. 'I am sorry;
but such things are not my business. I should be afraid to undertake
it.'

'But,' pleaded the merchant, 'I know no one in this city, and you must
surely have some place where you keep your own precious things. Do
this, I pray you, as a great favour.'

Still Beeka Mull politely but firmly refused; but the merchant,
feeling that he had now betrayed the fact that he was richer than he
seemed, and being loth to make more people aware of it by inquiring
elsewhere, continued to press him, until at last he consented. The
merchant produced the little box of jewels, and Beeka Mull locked it
up for him in a strong chest with other precious stones; and so, with
many promises and compliments, they parted.

In a place like an Eastern bazaar, where the shops lie with wide open
fronts, and with their goods displayed not only within but without on
terraces and verandahs raised a few feet above the public roadway,
such a long talk as that between Beeka Mull and the merchant could not
but attract some attention from the other shop-keepers in the narrow
street. If the merchant had but known it, nearly every shop-owner in
that district was a thief, and the cleverest and biggest of all was
Beeka Mull. But he did not know it, only he could not help feeling a
little uneasy at having thus parted with all his wealth to a stranger.
And so, as he wandered down the street, making a purchase here and
there, he managed in one way and another to ask some questions about
the honesty of Beeka Mull, and each rascal whom he spoke to, knowing
that there was some good reason in the question, and hoping to get in
return some share of the spoils, replied in praise of Beeka Mull as a
model of all the virtues.

In this way the merchant's fears were stilled, and, with a
comparatively light heart, he travelled on to his village; and within
a week or so returned to the city with half-a-dozen sturdy young
nephews and friends whom he had enlisted to help him carry home his
precious box.

At the great market-place in the centre of the city the merchant left
his friends, saying that he would go and get the box of jewels and
rejoin them, to which they consented, and away he went. Arrived at the
shop of Beeka Mull, he went up and saluted him.

'Good-day, Lala-ji,' said he. But the Lala pretended not to see him.
So he repeated the salutation. 'What do you want?' snapped Beeka Mull;
'you've said your "good-day" twice, why don't you tell me your
business?'

'Don't you remember me?' asked the merchant.

'Remember you?' growled the other; 'no, why should I? I have plenty
to do to remember good customers without trying to remember every
beggar who comes whining for charity.'

When he heard this the merchant began to tremble.

'Lala-ji!' he cried, 'surely you remember me and the little box I gave
you to take care of? And you promised--yes, indeed, you promised very
kindly--that I might return to claim it, and----'

'You scoundrel,' roared Beeka Mull, 'get out of my shop! Be off with
you, you impudent scamp! Every one knows that I never keep treasures
for anyone; I have trouble enough to do to keep my own! Come, off with
you!' With that he began to push the merchant out of the shop; and,
when the poor man resisted, two of the bystanders came to Beeka Mull's
help, and flung the merchant out into the road, like a bale of goods
dropped from a camel. Slowly he picked himself up out of the dust,
bruised, battered, and bleeding, but feeling nothing of the pain in
his body, nothing but a dreadful numbing sensation that, after all, he
was ruined and lost! Slowly he dragged himself a little further from
where the fat and furious Beeka Mull still stood amongst his
disordered silks and carpets, and coming to a friendly wall he
crouched and leant against it, and putting his head into his hands
gave himself up to an agony of misery and despair.

There he sat motionless, like one turned to stone, whilst darkness
fell around him; and when, about eleven o'clock that night, a certain
gay young fellow named Kooshy Ram passed by with a friend, he saw the
merchant sitting hunched against the wall, and remarked: 'A thief, no
doubt.' 'You are wrong,' returned the other, 'thieves don't sit in
full view of people like that, even at night.' And so the two passed
on, and thought no more of him. About five o'clock next morning Kooshy
Ram was returning home again, when, to his astonishment, he saw the
miserable merchant still sitting as he had seen him sit hours before.
Surely something must be the matter with a man who sat all night in
the open street, and Kooshy Ram resolved to see what it was; so he
went up and shook the merchant gently by the shoulder. 'Who are you?'
asked he--'and what are you doing here--are you ill?'

'Ill?' said the merchant in a hollow voice, 'yes; ill with a sickness
for which there is no medicine.'

'Oh, nonsense!' cried Kooshy Ram. 'Come along with me, I know a
medicine that will cure you, I think.' So the young man seized the
merchant by the arm, and hoisting him to his feet, dragged him to his
own lodging; where he first of all gave him a large glass of wine, and
then, after he had refreshed him with food, bade him tell his
adventures.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile the merchant's companions in the market-place, being
dull-witted persons, thought that as he did not return he must have
gone home by himself; and as soon as they were tired of waiting they
went back to their village and left him to look after his own affairs.
He would therefore have fared badly had it not been for his rescuer,
Kooshy Ram, who, whilst still a boy, had been left a great deal of
money with no one to advise him how to spend it. He was high-spirited,
kind-hearted, and shrewd into the bargain; but he threw away his money
like water, and generally upon the nearest thing or person in his way,
and that, alas! most often was himself! Now, however, he had taken it
into his head to befriend this miserable merchant, and he meant to do
it; and on his side the merchant felt confidence revive, and without
further ado told all that had happened.

Kooshy Ram laughed heartily at the idea of any stranger entrusting his
wealth to Beeka Mull.

'Why, he is the greatest rascal in the city,' he cried, 'unless you
believe what some of them say of me! Well, there is nothing to be
done for the present, but just to stay here quietly, and I think that
at the end of a short time I shall find a medicine which will heal
your sickness.' At this the merchant again took courage, and a little
ease crept into his heart as he gratefully accepted his new friend's
invitation.

A few days later Kooshy Ram sent for some friends to see him, and
talked with them long, and, although the merchant did not hear the
conversation, he did hear shouts of laughter as though at some good
joke; but the laughter echoed dully in his own heart, for the more he
considered the more he despaired of ever recovering his fortune from
the grasp of Beeka Mull.

One day, soon after this, Kooshy Ram came to him and said:

'You remember the wall where I found you that night, near Beeka Mull's
shop?'

'Yes, indeed I do,' answered the merchant.

'Well,' continued Kooshy Ram, 'this afternoon you must go and stand in
that same spot and watch; and when someone gives you a signal, you
must go up to Beeka Mull and salute him and say, "Oh, Lala-ji, will
you kindly let me have back that box of mine which you have on
trust?"'

'What's the use of that?' asked the merchant. 'He won't do it any more
now than he would when I asked him before.'

'Never mind!' replied Kooshy Ram, 'do exactly what I tell you, and
repeat exactly what I say, word for word, and I will answer for the
rest.'

So, that afternoon, the merchant at a certain time went and stood by
the wall as he was told. He noticed that Beeka Mull saw him, but
neither took any heed of the other. Presently up the bazaar came a
gorgeous palanquin like those in which ladies of rank are carried
about. It was borne by four bearers well dressed in rich liveries, and
its curtains and trappings were truly magnificent. In attendance was
a grave-looking personage whom the merchant recognized as one of the
friends who visited Kooshy Ram; and behind him came a servant with a
box covered with a cloth upon his head.

The palanquin was borne along at a smart pace and was set down at
Beeka Mull's shop. The fat shop-keeper was on his feet at once, and
bowed deeply as the gentleman in attendance advanced.

'May I inquire,' he said, 'who this is in the palanquin that deigns to
favour my humble shop with a visit? And what may I do for her?'

The gentleman, after whispering at the curtain of the palanquin,
explained that this was a relative of his who was travelling, but as
her husband could go no further with her, she desired to leave with
Beeka Mull a box of jewels for safe custody. Lala bowed again to the
ground. 'It was not,' he said, 'quite in his way of business; but of
course, if he could please the lady, he would be most happy, and would
guard the box with his life.' Then the servant carrying the box was
called up; the box was unlocked, and a mass of jewellery laid open to
the gaze of the enraptured Lala, whose mouth watered as he turned over
the rich gems.

All this the merchant had watched from the distance, and now he
saw--could he be mistaken?--no, he distinctly saw a hand beckoning
through the curtain on that side of the palanquin away from the shop.
'The signal! Was this the signal?' thought he. The hand beckoned
again, impatiently it seemed to him. So forward he went, very quietly,
and saluting Beeka Mull, who was sitting turning over the contents of
this amazing box of jewels which fortune and some fools were putting
into his care, he said:

'Oh, Lala-ji, will you kindly let me have back that box of mine which
you have on trust?'

The Lala looked up as though he had been stung; but quickly the
thought flashed through his mind that if this man began making a fuss
again he would lose the confidence of these new and richer customers;
so he controlled himself, and answered:

'Dear me, of course, yes! I had forgotten all about it.' And he went
off and brought the little box and put it into the merchant's
trembling hands. Quickly the latter pulled out the key, which hung by
a string round his neck, and opened the box; and when he saw that his
treasures were all there he rushed into the road, and, with the box
under his arm, began dancing like a madman, with great shouts and
screams of laughter. Just then a messenger came running up and,
saluting the gentleman attending the palanquin, he said:

'The lady's husband has returned, and is prepared to travel with her,
so that there is no necessity to deposit the jewels.' Whereat the
gentleman quickly closed and relocked the box, and handed it back to
the waiting servant. Then from the palanquin came a yell of laughter,
and out jumped--not a lady--but Kooshy Ram, who immediately ran and
joined the merchant in the middle of the road and danced as madly as
he. Beeka Mull stood and stared stupidly at them; then, with a shrill
cackle of laughter, he flung off his turban, bounced out into the road
with the other two, and fell to dancing and snapping his fingers until
he was out of breath.

'Lala-ji,' said the gentleman who had played the part of the relative
attendant on the palanquin, 'why do you dance? The merchant dances
because he has recovered his fortune; Kooshy Ram dances because he is
a madman and has tricked you; but why do _you_ dance?'

'I dance,' panted Beeka Ram, glaring at him with a bloodshot eye, 'I
dance because I knew thirteen different ways of deceiving people by
pretending confidence in them. I didn't know there were any more, and
now here's a fourteenth! That's why I dance!'

(Punjâbi Story, Major Campbell, Feroshepore.)


FOOTNOTE:

[3] 'Lala' is a complimentary title: 'ji' a polite affix; the
expression is somewhat equivalent to 'Dear Sir.'




_THE GREEN KNIGHT_


There lived once a king and queen who had an only daughter, a charming
and beautiful girl, dearer to them than anything else in the world.
When the princess was twelve years old the queen fell sick, and
nothing that could be done for her was of any use. All the doctors in
the kingdom did their best to cure her, but in spite of their efforts
she grew worse and worse. As she was about to die, she sent for the
king and said to him:

'Promise me that whatever our daughter asks, you will do, no matter
whether you wish to or not.'

The king at first hesitated, but as she added:

'Unless you promise this I cannot die in peace,' he at length did as
she desired, and gave the promise, after which she became quite happy
and died.

It happened that near the king's palace lived a noble lady, whose
little girl was of about the same age as the princess, and the two
children were always together. After the queen's death the princess
begged that this lady should come to live with her in the palace. The
king was not quite pleased with this arrangement, for he distrusted
the lady; but the princess wished so much for it that he did not like
to refuse.

'I am lonely, father,' she said, 'and all the beautiful presents you
give me cannot make up to me for the loss of my mother. If this lady
comes to live here I shall almost feel as if the queen had come back
to me.'

So a magnificent suite of rooms was prepared and set aside for the
new-comers, and the little princess was wild with joy at the thought
of having her friends so near her. The lady and her daughter arrived,
and for a long time all went well. They were very kind to the
motherless princess, and she almost began to forget how dull she had
been before they came. Then, one day, as she and the other girl were
playing together in the gardens of the palace, the lady came to them,
dressed for a journey, and kissed the princess tenderly, saying:

'Farewell, my child; my daughter and I must leave you and go far
away.'

The poor princess began to cry bitterly. 'Oh! you must not leave me!'
she sobbed. 'What shall I do without you? Please, oh! please stay.'

The lady shook her head.

'It almost breaks my heart to go, dear child,' she said, 'but, alas!
it must be.'

'Is there nothing that can keep you here?' asked the princess.

'Only one thing,' answered the lady, 'and as that is impossible, we
will not speak of it.'

'Nothing is impossible,' persisted the princess. 'Tell me what it is,
and it shall be done.'

So at last her friend told her.

'If the king, your father, would make me his queen I would stay,' she
said; 'but that he would never do.'

'Oh, yes! _that_ is easy enough!' cried the princess, delighted to
think that, after all, they need not be parted. And she ran off to
find her father, and beg him to marry the lady at once. He had done
everything she asked, and she was quite certain he would do it.

'What is it, my daughter?' he asked, when he saw her. 'You have been
crying--are you not happy?'

'Father,' she said, 'I have come to ask you to marry the
countess'--(for that was the lady's real title)--'if you do not she
will leave us, and then I shall be as lonely as before. You have never
refused me what I have asked before, do not refuse me now.'

The king turned quite pale when he heard this. He did not like the
countess, and so, of course, he did not wish to marry her; besides, he
still loved his dead wife.

'No, that I cannot do, my child,' he said at last.

At these words the princess began to cry once more, and the tears ran
down her cheeks so fast, and she sobbed so bitterly, that her father
felt quite miserable too. He remembered the promise he had given
always to do what his daughter asked him and in the end he gave way,
and promised to marry the countess. The princess at once was all
smiles, and ran away to tell the good news.

Soon after, the wedding was celebrated with great festivities, and the
countess became queen; but, in spite of all the joy and merriment that
filled the palace, the king looked pale and sad, for he was certain
that ill would come of the marriage. Sure enough, in a very short time
the queen's manner towards the princess began to change. She was
jealous of her because she, instead of her own daughter, was heir to
the throne, and very soon she could no longer hide her thoughts.
Instead of speaking kindly and lovingly as before, her words became
rough and cruel, and once or twice she even slapped the princess's
face.

The king was very unhappy at seeing his dearly loved daughter suffer,
and at last she became so wretched that he could no longer bear it.
Calling her to him one day he said:

'My daughter, you are no longer merry as you should be, and I fear
that it is the fault of your step-mother. It will be better for you to
live with her no longer; therefore I have built you a castle on the
island in the lake, and that is to be your home in future. There you
can do just as you like, and your step-mother will never enter it.'

The princess was delighted to hear this, and still more pleased when
she saw the castle, which was full of beautiful things, and had a
great number of windows looking out on the lovely blue water. There
was a boat in which she might row herself about, and a garden where
she could walk whenever she wished without fear of meeting the unkind
queen; and the king promised to visit her every day.

For a long time she dwelt in peace, and grew more and more beautiful
every day. Everyone who saw her said 'The princess is the loveliest
lady in the land.' And this was told to the queen, who hated her
step-daughter still more because her own daughter was ugly and stupid.

One day it was announced that a great meeting of knights and nobles
was to be held in a neighbouring kingdom distant about two days'
journey. There were to be all kinds of festivities, and a tournament
was to be fought and a banquet held, in honour of the coming of age of
the prince of the country.

The princess's father was amongst those invited, but before he set out
he went to take leave of his daughter. Although she had such a
beautiful home, and was no longer scolded by the queen, the poor
princess was dreadfully lonely, and she told her father that it would
be better if she were dead. He did his best to comfort her and
promised that he would soon return. Was there anything he could do to
help her?

'Yes,' she said. 'You may greet the Green Knight from me.'

Now the king wondered a little at these words, for he had never heard
of the Green Knight; but there was no time to ask questions, therefore
he gave the promise, and rode off on his journey. When he came to the
palace where the festivities were to take place, the first thing he
did was to ask:

'Can anyone tell me where I may find the Green Knight?'

No, they were very sorry; but none had ever heard of such a person
either--certainly he was not to be found there. At this the king grew
troubled, and not even the banquet or the tournament could make him
feel happier. He inquired of everyone he saw, 'Do you know the Green
Knight?' but the only answer he got was:

'No, your majesty, we have never heard of him.'

At length he began to believe that the princess was mistaken, and that
there was no such person; and he started on his homeward journey
sorrowfully enough, for this was the first time for many months that
the princess had asked him to do anything for her and he could not do
it. He thought so much about it that he did not notice the direction
his horse was taking, and presently he found himself in the midst of a
dense forest where he had never been before. He rode on and on,
looking for the path, but as the sun began to set he realised that he
was lost. At last, to his delight, he saw a man driving some pigs, and
riding up to him, he said:

'I have lost my way. Can you tell me where I am?'

'You are in the Green Knight's forest,' answered the man, 'and these
are his pigs.'

At that the king's heart grew light. 'Where does the Green Knight
live?' he asked.

'It is a very long way from here,' said the swineherd; 'but I will
show you the path.' So he went a little farther with the king and put
him on the right road, and the king bade him farewell.

Presently he came to a second forest, and there he met another
swineherd driving pigs.

'Whose beasts are those, my man?' he asked.

'They are the Green Knight's,' said the man.

'And where does he live?' inquired the king.

'Oh, not far from here,' was the reply.

Then the king rode on, and about midday he reached a beautiful castle
standing in the midst of the loveliest garden you can possibly
imagine, where fountains played in marble basins, and peacocks walked
on the smooth lawns. On the edge of a marble basin sat a young and
handsome man, who was dressed from head to foot in a suit of green
armour, and was feeding the goldfish which swam in the clear water.

'This must be the Green Knight,' thought the king; and going up to the
young man he said courteously:

'I have come, sir, to give you my daughter's greeting. But I have
wandered far, and lost my way in your forest.'

The knight looked at him for a moment as though puzzled.

'I have never met either you or your daughter,' he said at last; 'but
you are very welcome all the same.' And he waved his hand towards the
castle. However, the king took no notice, and told him that his
daughter had sent a message to the Green Knight, and as he was the
only Green Knight in the kingdom this message must be for him.

'You must pass the night with me here,' said the knight; and as the
sun was already set, the king was thankful to accept the invitation.
They sat down in the castle hall to a magnificent banquet, and
although he had travelled much and visited many monarchs in their
palaces, the king had never fared better than at the table of the
Green Knight, whilst his host himself was so clever and agreeable,
that he was delighted, and thought 'what a charming son-in-law this
knight would make!'

Next morning, when he was about to set forth on his journey home, the
Green Knight put into his hand a jewelled casket, saying:

'Will your highness graciously condescend to carry this gift to the
princess, your daughter? It contains my portrait, that when I come she
may know me; for I feel certain that she is the lady I have seen night
after night in a dream, and I must win her for my bride.'

The king gave the knight his blessing, and promised to take the gift
to his daughter. With that he set off, and ere long reached his own
country.

The princess was awaiting him anxiously when he arrived, and ran to
his arms in her joy at seeing her dear father again.

'And did you see the Green Knight?' she asked.

'Yes,' answered the king, drawing out the casket the knight had sent,
'and he begged me to give you this that you may know him when he
arrives and not mistake him for somebody else.'

When the princess saw the portrait she was delighted, and exclaimed:
'It is indeed the man whom I have seen in my dreams! Now I shall be
happy, for he and no other shall be my husband.'

Very soon after the Green Knight arrived, and he looked so handsome in
his green armour, with a long green plume in his helmet, that the
princess fell still more in love with him than before, and when he saw
her, and recognised her as the lady whom he had so often dreamt of, he
immediately asked her to be his bride. The princess looked down and
smiled as she answered him:

'We must keep the secret from my step-mother until the wedding-day,'
said she, 'for otherwise she will find a way to do us some evil.'

'As you please,' replied the prince; 'but I must visit you daily, for
I can live no longer without you! I will come early in the morning and
not leave until it is dark; thus the queen will not see me row across
the lake.'

For a long time, the Green Knight visited the princess every day, and
spent many hours wandering with her through the beautiful gardens
where they knew the queen could not see them. But secrets, as you
know, are dangerous things, and at last, one morning, a girl who was
in service at the palace happened to be walking by the lake early in
the morning and beheld a wonderfully handsome young man, in a
beautiful suit of green satin, come down to the edge of the lake. Not
guessing that he was watched, he got into a little boat that lay
moored to the bank, rowed himself over to the island where the
princess's castle stood. The girl went home wondering who the knight
could be; and as she was brushing the queen's hair, she said to her:

'Does your majesty know that the princess has a suitor?'

  [Illustration: THE POISONED NAIL]

'Nonsense!' replied the queen crossly. But she was dreadfully vexed at
the mere idea, as her own daughter was still unmarried, and was likely
to remain so, because she was so ill-tempered and stupid that no one
wanted her.

'It is true,' persisted the girl. 'He is dressed all in green, and is
very handsome. I saw him myself, though he did not see me, and he got
into a boat and rowed over to the island, and the princess was waiting
for him at the castle door.'

'I must find out what this means,' thought the queen. But she bade her
maid of honour cease chattering and mind her own business.

Early next morning the queen got up and went down to the shore of the
lake, where she hid herself behind a tree. Sure enough there came a
handsome knight dressed in green, just as the maid of honour had said,
and he got into a boat and rowed over to the island where the princess
awaited him. The angry queen remained by the lake all day, but it was
not until the evening that the knight returned, and leaping on shore,
he tied the boat to its moorings and went away through the forest.

       *       *       *       *       *

'I have caught my step-daughter nicely,' thought the queen. 'But she
shall not be married before my own sweet girl. I must find a way to
put a stop to this.'

Accordingly she took a poisoned nail and stuck it in the handle of the
oar in such a way that the knight would be sure to scratch his hand
when he picked up the oar. Then she went home laughing, very much
pleased with her cleverness.

The next day the Green Knight went to visit the princess as usual; but
directly he took up the oars to row over to the island he felt a sharp
scratch on his hand.

'Oof!' he said, dropping the oars from pain, 'what can have scratched
so?' But, look as he might, only a tiny mark was to be seen.

'Well, it's strange how a nail could have come here since yesterday,'
he thought. 'Still, it is not very serious, though it hurts a good
deal.' And, indeed, it seemed such a little thing that he did not
mention it to the princess. However, when he reached home in the
evening, he felt so ill he was obliged to go to bed, with no one to
attend on him except his old nurse. But of this, of course, the
princess knew nothing; and the poor girl, fearing lest some evil
should have befallen him, or some other maiden more beautiful than she
should have stolen his heart from her, grew almost sick with waiting.
Lonely, indeed, she was, for her father, who would have helped her,
was travelling in a foreign country, and she knew not how to obtain
news of her lover.

       *       *       *       *       *

In this manner time passed away, and one day, as she sat by the open
window crying and feeling very sad, a little bird came and perched on
the branch of a tree that stood just underneath. It began to sing, and
so beautifully that the princess was obliged to stop crying and listen
to it, and very soon she found out that the bird was trying to attract
her attention.

'_Tu-whit, tu-whit!_ your lover is sick!' it sang.

'Alas!' cried the princess. 'What can I do?'

'_Tu-whit, tu-whit!_ you must go to your father's palace!'

'And what shall I do there?' she asked.

'_Tu-whit!_ there you will find a snake with nine young ones.'

'Ugh!' answered the princess with a shiver, for she did not like
snakes. But the little bird paid no heed.

'Put them in a basket and go to the Green Knight's palace,' said she.

'And what am I to do with them when I get there?' she cried, blushing
all over, though there was no one to see her but the bird.

'Dress yourself as a kitchen-maid and ask for a place. _Tu-whit!_ Then
you must make soup out of the snakes. Give it three times to the
knight and he will be cured. _Tu-whit!_'

'But what has made him ill?' asked the princess. The bird, however,
had flown away, and there was nothing for it but to go to her father's
palace and look for the snakes. When she came there she found the
mother snake with the nine little snakes all curled up so that you
could hardly tell their heads from their tails. The princess did not
like having to touch them, but when the old snake had wriggled out of
the nest to bask a little in the sun, she picked up the young ones and
put them in a basket as the bird had told her, and ran off to find the
Green Knight's castle. All day she walked along, sometimes stopping to
pick the wild berries, or to gather a nosegay; but though she rested
now and then, she would not lie down to sleep before she reached the
castle. At last she came in sight of it, and just then she met a girl
driving a flock of geese.

'Good-day!' said the princess; 'can you tell me if this is the castle
of the Green Knight?'

'Yes, that it is,' answered the goose girl, 'for I am driving his
geese. But the Green Knight is very ill, and they say that unless he
can be cured within three days he will surely die.'

At this news the princess grew as white as death. The ground seemed to
spin round, and she closed her hand tight on a bush that was standing
beside her. By-and-by, with a great effort, she recovered herself and
said to the goose girl:

'Would you like to have a fine silk dress to wear?'

The goose girl's eyes glistened.

'Yes, that I would!' answered she.

'Then take off your dress and give it to me, and I will give you
mine,' said the princess.

  [Illustration: THE PRINCESS CHANGES CLOTHES WITH THE GOOSE-GIRL]

The girl could scarcely believe her ears, but the princess was
already unfastening her beautiful silk dress, and taking off her silk
stockings and pretty red shoes; and the goose girl lost no time in
slipping out of her rough linen skirt and tunic. Then the princess put
on the other's rags and let down her hair, and went to the kitchen to
ask for a place.

'Do you want a kitchen-maid?' she said.

'Yes, we do,' answered the cook, who was too busy to ask the new-comer
many questions.

The following day, after a good night's rest, the princess set about
her new duties. The other servants were speaking of their master, and
saying to each other how ill he was, and that unless he could be cured
within three days he would surely die.

The princess thought of the snakes, and the bird's advice, and lifting
her head from the pots and pans she was scouring, she said: 'I know
how to make a soup that has such a wonderful power that whoever tastes
it is sure to be cured, whatever his illness may be. As the doctors
cannot cure your master shall I try?'

At first they all laughed at her.

'What! a scullion cure the knight when the best physicians in the
kingdom have failed?'

But at last, just because all the physicians _had_ failed, they
decided that it would do no harm to try; and she ran off joyfully to
fetch her basket of snakes and make them into broth. When this was
ready she carried some to the knight's room and entered it boldly,
pushing aside all the learned doctors who stood beside his bed. The
poor knight was too ill to know her, besides, she was so ragged and
dirty that he would not have been likely to do so had he been well;
but when he had taken the soup he was so much better that he was able
to sit up.

The next day he had some more, and then he was able to dress himself.

'That is certainly wonderful soup!' said the cook.

The third day, after he had eaten his soup, the knight was quite well
again.

'Who are you?' he asked the girl; 'was it you who made this soup that
has cured me?'

'Yes,' answered the princess.

'Choose, then, whatever you wish as a reward,' said the knight, 'and
you shall have it.'

'I would be your bride!' said the princess.

The knight frowned in surprise at such boldness, and shook his head.

'That is the one thing I cannot grant,' he said, 'for I am pledged to
marry the most beautiful princess in the world. Choose again.'

Then the princess ran away and washed herself and mended her rags, and
when she returned the Green Knight recognised her at once.

You can think what a joyful meeting that was!

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after, they were married with great splendour. All the knights
and princes in the kingdom were summoned to the wedding, and the
princess wore a dress that shone like the sun, so that no one had ever
beheld a more gorgeous sight. The princess's father, of course, was
present, but the wicked queen and her daughter were driven out of the
country, and as nobody has seen them since, very likely they were
eaten by wild beasts in the forest. But the bride and bridegroom were
so happy that they forgot all about them, and they lived with the old
king till he died, when they succeeded him.

(From "_Eventyr fra Jylland_," _samlede og optegnede af Evald Tang
Kristensen_. Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen.)




_THE FIVE WISE WORDS OF THE GURU_[4]


Once there lived a handsome young man named Ram Singh, who, though a
favourite with everyone, was unhappy because he had a scold for a
step-mother. All day long she went on talking, until the youth was
driven so distracted that he determined to go away somewhere and seek
his fortune. No sooner had he decided to leave his home than he made
his plans, and the very next morning he started off with a few clothes
in a wallet, and a little money in his pocket.

But there was one person in the village to whom he wished to say
good-bye, and that was a wise old guru, or teacher, who had taught him
much. So he turned his face first of all towards his master's hut, and
before the sun was well up was knocking at his door. The old man
received his pupil affectionately; but he was wise in reading faces,
and saw at once that the youth was in trouble.

'My son,' said he, 'what is the matter?'

'Nothing, father,' replied the young man, 'but I have determined to go
into the world and seek my fortune.'

'Be advised,' returned the guru, 'and remain in your father's house;
it is better to have half a loaf at home than to seek a whole one in
distant countries.'

But Ram Singh was in no mood to heed such advice, and very soon the
old man ceased to press him.

'Well,' said he at last, 'if your mind is made up I suppose you must
have your way. But listen carefully, and remember five parting
counsels which I will give you; and if you keep these no evil shall
befall you. First--always obey without question the orders of him
whose service you enter; second--never speak harshly or unkindly to
anyone; third--never lie; fourth--never try to appear the equal of
those above you in station; and fifth--wherever you go, if you meet
those who read or teach from the holy books, stay and listen, if but
for a few minutes, that you may be strengthened in the path of duty.'

Then Ram Singh started out upon his journey, promising to bear in mind
the old man's words.

After some days he came to a great city. He had spent all the money
which he had at starting, and therefore resolved to look for work
however humble it might be. Catching sight of a prosperous-looking
merchant standing in front of a shop full of grain of all kinds, Ram
Singh went up to him and asked whether he could give him anything to
do. The merchant gazed at him so long that the young man began to lose
heart, but at length he answered:

'Yes, of course; there is a place waiting for you.'

'What do you mean?' asked Ram Singh.

'Why,' replied the other, 'yesterday our rajah's chief wazir dismissed
his body servant and is wanting another. Now you are just the sort of
person that he needs, for you are young and tall, and handsome; I
advise you to apply there.'

Thanking the merchant for this advice, the young man set out at once
for the wazir's house, and soon managed, thanks to his good looks and
appearance, to be engaged as the great man's servant.

One day, soon after this, the rajah of the place started on a journey
and the chief wazir accompanied him. With them was an army of servants
and attendants, soldiers, muleteers, camel-drivers, merchants with
grain and stores for man and beast, singers to make entertainment by
the way and musicians to accompany them, besides elephants, camels,
horses, mules, ponies, donkeys, goats, and carts and wagons of every
kind and description, so that it seemed more like a large town on the
march than anything else.

Thus they travelled for several days, till they entered a country that
was like a sea of sand, where the swirling dust floated in clouds, and
men and beasts were half choked by it. Towards the close of that day
they came to a village, and when the headmen hurried out to salute the
rajah and to pay him their respects, they began, with very long and
serious faces, to explain that, whilst they and all that they had were
of course at the disposal of the rajah, the coming of so large a
company had nevertheless put them into a dreadful difficulty because
they had never a well nor spring of water in their country; and they
had no water to give drink to such an army of men and beasts!

Great fear fell upon the host at the words of the headmen, but the
rajah merely told the wazir that he must get water somehow, and that
settled the matter so far as _he_ was concerned. The wazir sent off in
haste for all the oldest men in the place, and began to question them
as to whether there were no wells near by.

They all looked helplessly at each other, and said nothing; but at
length one old grey-beard replied:

'Truly, Sir Wazir, there is, within a mile or two of this village, a
well which some former king made hundreds of years ago. It is, they
say, great and inexhaustible, covered in by heavy stone-work and with
a flight of steps leading down to the water in the very bowels of the
earth; but no man ever goes near it because it is haunted by evil
spirits, and it is known that whoso disappears down the well shall
never be seen again.'

The wazir stroked his beard and considered a moment. Then he turned to
Ram Singh who stood behind his chair.

'There is a proverb,' said he, 'that no man can be trusted until he
has been tried. Go you and get the rajah and his people water from
this well.'

Then there flashed into Ram Singh's mind the first counsel of the old
guru--'_Always obey without question the orders of him whose service
you enter._' So he replied at once that he was ready, and left to
prepare for his adventure. Two great brazen vessels he fastened to a
mule, two lesser ones he bound upon his shoulders, and thus provided
he set out, with the old villager for his guide. In a short time they
came to a spot where some big trees towered above the barren country,
whilst under their shadow lay the dome of an ancient building. This
the guide pointed out as the well, but excused himself from going
further as he was an old man and tired, and it was already nearly
sunset, so that he must be returning home. So Ram Singh bade him
farewell, and went on alone with the mule.

  [Illustration: 'WHAT THINK YOU, O MORTAL, OF MY FAIR AND LOVELY
      WIFE?']

Arrived at the trees, Ram Singh tied up his beast, lifted the vessels
from his shoulder, and having found the opening of the well, descended
by a flight of steps which led down into the darkness. The steps were
broad white slabs of alabaster which gleamed in the shadows as he went
lower and lower. All was very silent. Even the sound of his bare feet
upon the pavements seemed to wake an echo in that lonely place, and
when one of the vessels which he carried slipped and fell upon the
steps it clanged so loudly that he jumped at the noise. Still he went
on, until at last he reached a wide pool of sweet water, and there he
washed his jars with care before he filled them, and began to remount
the steps with the lighter vessels, as the big ones were so heavy he
could only take up one at a time. Suddenly, something moved above him,
and looking up he saw a great giant standing on the stairway! In one
hand he held clasped to his heart a dreadful looking mass of bones, in
the other was a lamp which cast long shadows about the walls, and
made him seem even more terrible than he really was.

'What think you, O mortal,' said the giant, 'of my fair and lovely
wife?' And he held the light towards the bones in his arms and looked
lovingly at them.

Now I must tell you that this poor giant had had a very beautiful
wife, whom he had loved dearly; but, when she died, her husband
refused to believe in her death, and always carried her about long
after she had become nothing but bones. Ram Singh of course did not
know of this, but there came to his mind the second wise saying of the
guru, which forbade him to speak harshly or inconsiderately to others;
so he replied:

'Truly, sir, I am sure you could find nowhere such another.'

'Ah, what eyes you have!' cried the delighted giant, 'you at least can
see! I do not know how often I have slain those who insulted her by
saying she was but dried bones! You are a fine young man, and I will
help you.'

So saying, he laid down the bones with great tenderness, and snatching
up the huge brass vessels, carried them up again, and replaced them
with such ease that it was all done by the time that Ram Singh had
reached the open air with the smaller ones.

'Now,' said the giant, 'you have pleased me, and you may ask of me one
favour, and whatever you wish I will do it for you. Perhaps you would
like me to show you where lies buried the treasure of dead kings?' he
added eagerly.

But Ram Singh shook his head at the mention of buried wealth.

'The favour that I would ask,' said he, 'is that you will leave off
haunting this well, so that men may go in and out and obtain water.'

Perhaps the giant expected some favour more difficult to grant, for
his face brightened, and he promised to depart at once; and as Ram
Singh went off through the gathering darkness with his precious
burden of water, he beheld the giant striding away with the bones of
his dead wife in his arms.

Great was the wonder and rejoicing in the camp when Ram Singh returned
with the water. He never said anything, however, about his adventure
with the giant, but merely told the rajah that there was nothing to
prevent the well being used; and used it was, and nobody ever saw any
more of the giant.

The rajah was so pleased with the bearing of Ram Singh that he ordered
the wazir to give the young man to him in exchange for one of his own
servants. So Ram Singh became the rajah's attendant; and as the days
went by the king became more and more delighted with the youth
because, mindful of the old guru's third counsel, he was always honest
and spoke the truth. He grew in favour rapidly, until at last the
rajah made him his treasurer, and thus he reached a high place in the
court and had wealth and power in his hands. Unluckily the rajah had a
brother who was a very bad man; and this brother thought that if he
could win the young treasurer over to himself he might by this means
manage to steal little by little any of the king's treasure which he
needed. Then, with plenty of money, he could bribe the soldiers and
some of the rajah's counsellors, head a rebellion, dethrone and kill
his brother, and reign himself instead. He was too wary, of course, to
tell Ram Singh of all these wicked plans; but he began by flattering
him whenever he saw him, and at last offered him his daughter in
marriage. But Ram Singh remembered the fourth counsel of the old
guru--never to try to appear the equal of those above him in
station--therefore he respectfully declined the great honour of
marrying a princess. Of course the prince, baffled at the very
beginning of his enterprise, was furious, and determined to work Ram
Singh's ruin, and entering the rajah's presence he told him a story
about Ram Singh having spoken insulting words of his sovereign and of
his daughter. What it was all about nobody knew, and, as it was not
true, the wicked prince did not know either; but the rajah grew very
angry and red in the face as he listened, and declared that until the
treasurer's head was cut off neither he nor the princess nor his
brother would eat or drink.

'But,' added he, 'I do not wish any one to know that this was done by
my desire, and anyone who mentions the subject will be severely
punished.' And with this the prince was forced to be content.

Then the rajah sent for an officer of his guard, and told him to take
some soldiers and ride at once to a tower which was situated just
outside the town, and if anyone should come to inquire when the
building was going to be finished, or should ask any other questions
about it, the officer must chop his head off, and bring it to him. As
for the body, that could be buried on the spot. The old officer
thought these instructions rather odd, but it was no business of his,
so he saluted, and went off to do his master's bidding.

Early in the morning the rajah, who had not slept all night, sent for
Ram Singh, and bade him go to the new hunting-tower, and ask the
people there how it was getting on and when it was going to be
finished, and to hurry back with the answer! Away went Ram Singh upon
his errand, but, on the road, as he was passing a little temple on the
outskirts of the city, he heard someone inside reading aloud; and,
remembering the guru's fifth counsel, he just stepped inside and sat
down to listen for a minute. He did not mean to stay longer, but
became so deeply interested in the wisdom of the teacher, that he sat,
and sat, and sat, while the sun rose higher and higher.

In the meantime, the wicked prince, who dared not disobey the rajah's
command, was feeling very hungry; and as for the princess, she was
quietly crying in a corner waiting for the news of Ram Singh's death,
so that she might eat her breakfast.

Hours passed, and stare as he might from the window no messenger could
be seen.

At last the prince could bear it no longer, and hastily disguising
himself so that no one should recognise him, he jumped on a horse and
galloped out to the hunting-tower, where the rajah had told him that
the execution was to take place. But, when he got there, there was no
execution going on. There were only some men engaged in building, and
a number of soldiers idly watching them. He forgot that he had
disguised himself and that no one would know him, so, riding up, he
cried out:

'Now then, you men, why are you idling about here instead of finishing
what you came to do? When is it to be done?'

At his words the soldiers looked at the commanding officer, who was
standing a little apart from the rest. Unperceived by the prince he
made a slight sign, a sword flashed in the sun, and off flew a head on
the ground beneath!

As part of the prince's disguise had been a thick beard, the men did
not recognise the dead man as the rajah's brother; but they wrapped
the head in a cloth, and buried the body as their commander bade them.
When this was ended, the officer took the cloth, and rode off in the
direction of the palace.

Meanwhile the rajah came home from his council, and to his great
surprise found neither head nor brother awaiting him; as time passed
on, he became uneasy, and thought that he had better go himself and
see what the matter was. So ordering his horse he rode off alone.

It happened that, just as the rajah came near to the temple where Ram
Singh still sat, the young treasurer, hearing the sound of a horse's
hoofs, looked over his shoulder and saw that the rider was the rajah
himself! Feeling much ashamed of himself for having forgotten his
errand, he jumped up and hurried out to meet his master, who reined up
his horse, and seemed very surprised (as indeed he was) to see _him_.
At that moment there arrived the officer of the guard carrying his
parcel. He saluted the rajah gravely, and, dismounting, laid the
bundle in the road and began to undo the wrappings, whilst the rajah
watched him with wonder and interest. When the last string was undone,
and the head of his brother was displayed to his view, the rajah
sprang from his horse and caught the soldier by the arm. As soon as he
could speak he questioned the man as to what had occurred, and little
by little a dark suspicion darted through him. Then, briefly telling
the soldier that he had done well, the rajah drew Ram Singh to one
side, and in a few minutes learned from him how, in attending to the
guru's counsel, he had delayed to do the king's message.

In the end the rajah found from some papers the proofs of his dead
brother's treachery; and Ram Singh established his innocence and
integrity. He continued to serve the rajah for many years with
unswerving fidelity; and married a maiden of his own rank in life,
with whom he lived happily; dying at last honoured and loved by all
men. Sons were born to him; and, in time, to them also he taught the
five wise sayings of the old guru.

(A Punjâbi story.)


FOOTNOTE:

[4] A Hindu religious teacher or saint; in this case a Sikh.




_THE GOLDEN-HEADED FISH_


Once upon a time there lived in Egypt a king who lost his sight from a
bad illness. Of course he was very unhappy, and became more so as
months passed, and all the best doctors in the land were unable to
cure him. The poor man grew so thin from misery that everyone thought
he was going to die, and the prince, his only son, thought so too.

Great was therefore the rejoicing through Egypt when a traveller
arrived in a boat down the river Nile, and after questioning the
people as to the reason of their downcast looks, declared that he was
court physician to the king of a far country, and would, if allowed,
examine the eyes of the blind man. He was at once admitted into the
royal presence, and after a few minutes of careful study announced
that the case, though very serious, was not quite hopeless.

'Somewhere in the Great Sea,' he said, 'there exists a Golden-headed
Fish. If you can manage to catch this creature, bring it to me, and I
will prepare an ointment from its blood which will restore your sight.
For a hundred days I will wait here, but if at the end of that time
the fish should still be uncaught I must return to my own master.'

  [Illustration: THE PRINCE HAS PITY ON THE GOLD-HEADED FISH]

The next morning the young prince set forth in quest of the fish,
taking with him a hundred men, each man carrying a net. Quite a little
fleet of boats was awaiting them and in these they sailed to the
middle of the Great Sea. During three months they laboured diligently
from sunrise to sunset, but though they caught large multitudes of
fishes, not one of them had a golden head.

'It is quite useless now,' said the prince on the very last night.
'Even if we find it this evening, the hundred days will be over in an
hour, and long before we could reach the Egyptian capital the doctor
will be on his way home. Still, I will go out again, and cast the net
once more myself.' And so he did, and at the very moment that the
hundred days were up, he drew in the net with the Golden-headed Fish
entangled in its meshes.

'Success has come, but, as happens often, it is too late,' murmured
the young man, who had studied in the schools of philosophy; 'but, all
the same, put the fish in that vessel full of water, and we will take
it back to show my father that we have done what we could.' But when
he drew near the fish it looked up at him with such piteous eyes that
he could not make up his mind to condemn it to death. For he knew well
that, though the doctors of his own country were ignorant of the
secret of the ointment, they would do all in their power to extract
something from the fish's blood. So he picked up the prize of so much
labour, and threw it back into the sea, and then began his journey
back to the palace. When at last he reached it he found the king in a
high fever, caused by his disappointment, and he refused to believe
the story told him by his son.

'Your head shall pay for it! Your head shall pay for it!' cried he;
and bade the courtiers instantly summon the executioner to the palace.

But of course somebody ran at once to the queen, and told her of the
king's order, and she put common clothes on the prince, and filled his
pockets with gold, and hurried him on board a ship which was sailing
that night for a distant island.

'Your father will repent some day, and then he will be thankful to
know you are alive,' said she. 'But one last counsel will I give you,
and that is, take no man into your service who desires to be paid
every month.'

The young prince thought this advice rather odd. If the servant had to
be paid anyhow, he did not understand what difference it could make
whether it was by the year or by the month. However, he had many times
proved that his mother was wiser than he, so he promised obedience.

       *       *       *       *       *

After a voyage of several weeks, he arrived at the island of which his
mother had spoken. It was full of hills and woods and flowers, and
beautiful white houses stood everywhere in gardens.

'What a charming spot to live in,' thought the prince. And he lost no
time in buying one of the prettiest of the dwellings.

Then servants came pressing to offer their services; but as they all
declared that they must have payment at the end of every month, the
young man, who remembered his mother's words, declined to have
anything to say to them. At length, one morning, an Arab appeared and
begged that the prince would engage him.

'And what wages do you ask?' inquired the prince, when he had
questioned the new-comer and found him suitable.

'I do not want money,' answered the Arab; 'at the end of a year you
can see what my services are worth to you, and can pay me in any way
you like.' And the young man was pleased, and took the Arab for his
servant.

Now, although no one would have guessed it from the look of the side
of the island where the prince had landed, the other part was a
complete desert, owing to the ravages of a horrible monster which came
up from the sea, and devoured all the corn and cattle. The governor
had sent bands of soldiers to lie in wait for the creature in order to
kill it; but, somehow, no one ever happened to be awake at the moment
that the ravages were committed. It was in vain that the sleepy
soldiers were always punished severely--the same thing invariably
occurred next time; and at last heralds were sent throughout the
island to offer a great reward to the man who could slay the monster.

As soon as the Arab heard the news, he went straight to the governor's
palace.

'If my master can succeed in killing the monster, what reward will you
give him?' asked he.

'My daughter and anything besides that he chooses,' answered the
governor. But the Arab shook his head.

'Give him your daughter and keep your wealth,' said he; 'but,
henceforward, let her share in your gains, whatever they are.'

'It is well,' replied the governor; and ordered a deed to be prepared,
which was signed by both of them.

That night the Arab stole down to the shore to watch, but, before he
set out, he rubbed himself all over with some oil which made his skin
smart so badly that there was no chance of _his_ going to sleep as the
soldiers had done. Then he hid himself behind a large rock and waited.
By-and-by a swell seemed to rise on the water, and, a few minutes
later, a hideous monster--part bird, part beast, and part
serpent--stepped noiselessly on to the rocks. It walked stealthily up
towards the fields, but the Arab was ready for it, and, as it passed,
plunged his dagger into the soft part behind the ear. The creature
staggered and gave a loud cry, and then rolled over dead, with its
feet in the sea.

The Arab watched for a little while, in order to make sure that there
was no life left in his enemy, but as the huge body remained quite
still, he quitted his hiding-place, and cut off the ears of his foe.
These he carried to his master, bidding him show them to the governor,
and declare that he himself, and no other, had killed the monster.

'But it was you, and not I, who slew him,' objected the prince.

'Never mind; do as I bid you. I have a reason for it,' answered the
Arab. And though the young man did not like taking credit for what he
had never done, at length he gave in.

The governor was so delighted at the news that he begged the prince to
take his daughter to wife that very day; but the prince refused,
saying that all he desired was a ship which would carry him to see the
world. Of course this was granted him at once, and when he and his
faithful Arab embarked they found, heaped up in the vessel, stores of
diamonds and precious stones, which the grateful governor had secretly
placed there.

So they sailed, and they sailed, and they sailed; and at length they
reached the shores of a great kingdom. Leaving the prince on board,
the Arab went into the town to find out what sort of a place it was.
After some hours he returned, saying that he heard that the king's
daughter was the most beautiful princess in the world, and that the
prince would do well to ask for her hand.

Nothing loth, the prince listened to this advice, and taking some of
the finest necklaces in his hand, he mounted a splendid horse which
the Arab had bought for him, and rode up to the palace, closely
followed by his faithful attendant.

The strange king happened to be in a good humour, and they were
readily admitted to his presence. Laying down his offerings on the
steps of the throne, he prayed the king to grant him his daughter in
marriage.

The monarch listened to him in silence; but answered, after a pause:

'Young man, I will give you my daughter to wife, if that is your wish;
but first I must tell you that she has already gone through the
marriage ceremony with a hundred and ninety young men, and not one of
them lived for twelve hours after. So think, while there is yet
time.'

The prince _did_ think, and was so frightened that he very nearly went
back to his ship without any more words. But just as he was about to
withdraw his proposal the Arab whispered:

'Fear nothing, but take her.'

'The luck must change some time,' he said, at last; 'and who would not
risk his head for the hand of such a peerless princess?'

'As you will,' replied the king. 'Then I will give orders that the
marriage shall be celebrated to-night.'

And so it was done; and after the ceremony the bride and bridegroom
retired to their own apartments to sup by themselves, for such was the
custom of the country. The moon shone bright, and the prince walked to
the window to look out upon the river and upon the distant hills, when
his gaze suddenly fell on a silken shroud neatly laid out on a couch,
with his name embroidered in gold thread across the front; for this
also was the pleasure of the king.

Horrified at the spectacle, he turned his head away, and this time his
glance rested on a group of men, digging busily beneath the window. It
was a strange hour for any one to be at work, and what was the hole
for? It was a curious shape, so long and narrow, almost like---- Ah!
yes, that was what it was! It was _his_ grave that they were digging!

The shock of the discovery rendered him speechless, yet he stood
fascinated and unable to move. At this moment a small black snake
darted from the mouth of the princess, who was seated at the table,
and wriggled quickly towards him. But the Arab was watching for
something of the sort to happen, and seizing the serpent with some
pincers that he held in one hand, he cut off its head with a sharp
dagger.

The king could hardly believe his eyes when, early the next morning,
his new son-in-law craved an audience of his Majesty.

'What, you?' he cried, as the young man entered.

'Yes, I. Why not?' asked the bridegroom, who thought it best to
pretend not to know anything that had occurred. 'You remember, I told
you that the luck must turn at last, and so it has. But I came to ask
whether you would be so kind as to bid the gardeners fill up a great
hole right underneath my window, which spoils the view.'

'Oh! certainly, yes; of course it shall be done!' stammered the king.
'Is there anything else?'

'No, nothing, thank you,' replied the prince, as he bowed and
withdrew.

Now, from the moment that the Arab cut off the snake's head, the
spell, or whatever it was, seemed to have been taken off the princess,
and she lived very happily with her husband. The days passed swiftly
in hunting in the forests, or sailing on the broad river that flowed
past the palace, and when night fell she would sing to her harp, or
the prince would tell her tales of his own country.

One evening a man in a strange garb, with a face burnt brown by the
sun, arrived at court. He asked to see the bridegroom, and falling on
his face announced that he was a messenger sent by the queen of Egypt,
proclaiming him king in succession to his father, who was dead.

'Her Majesty begs you will set out without delay, and your bride also,
as the affairs of the kingdom are somewhat in disorder,' ended the
messenger.

Then the young man hastened to seek an audience of his father-in-law,
who was delighted to find that his daughter's husband was not merely
the governor of a province, as he had supposed, but the king of a
powerful country. He at once ordered a splendid ship to be made ready,
and in a week's time rode down to the harbour, to bid farewell to the
young couple.

In spite of her grief for the dead king, the queen was overjoyed to
welcome her son home, and commanded the palace to be hung with
splendid stuffs to do honour to the bride. The people expected great
things from their new sovereign, for they had suffered much from the
harsh rule of the old one, and crowds presented themselves every
morning with petitions in their hands, which they hoped to persuade
the king to grant. Truly, he had enough to keep him busy; but he was
very happy for all that, till, one night, the Arab came to him, and
begged permission to return to his own land.

Filled with dismay the young man said: 'Leave me! Do you really wish
to leave me?' Sadly the Arab bowed his head.

'No, my master; never could I wish to leave you! But I have received a
summons, and I dare not disobey it.'

The king was silent, trying to choke down the grief he felt at the
thought of losing his faithful servant.

'Well, I must not try to keep you,' he faltered out at last. 'That
would be a poor return for all that you have done for me! Everything I
have is yours; take what you will, for without you I should long ago
have been dead!'

'And without _you_, _I_ should long ago have been dead,' answered the
Arab. '_I_ am the Golden-headed Fish.'

(Adapted from _Contes Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler, Paris. Ernest
Leroux, Editeur.)




_DORANI_


Once upon a time there lived in a city of Hindustan a seller of scents
and essences, who had a very beautiful daughter named Dorani. This
maiden had a friend who was a fairy, and the two were high in favour
with Indra, the king of fairyland, because they were able to sing so
sweetly and dance so deftly that no one in the kingdom could equal
them for grace and beauty. Dorani had the most lovely hair in the
world, for it was like spun gold, and the smell of it was like the
smell of fresh roses. But her locks were so long and thick that the
weight of it was often unbearable, and one day she cut off a shining
tress, and wrapping it in a large leaf, threw it in the river which
ran just below her window. Now it happened that the king's son was out
hunting, and had gone down to the river to drink, when there floated
towards him a folded leaf, from which came a perfume of roses. The
prince, with idle curiosity, took a step into the water and caught the
leaf as it was sailing by. He opened it, and within he found a lock of
hair like spun gold, and from which came a faint, exquisite odour.

When the prince reached home that day he looked so sad and was so
quiet that his father wondered if any ill had befallen him, and asked
what was the matter. Then the youth took from his breast the tress of
hair which he had found in the river, and holding it up to the light,
replied:

'See, my father, was ever hair like this? Unless I may win and marry
the maiden that owns that lock I must die!'

  [Illustration: 'HE NEVER COULD PERSUADE HER TO SAY A SINGLE WORD']

So the king immediately sent heralds throughout all his dominions to
search for the damsel with hair like spun gold; and at last he learned
that she was the daughter of the scent-seller. The object of the
herald's mission was quickly noised abroad, and Dorani heard of it
with the rest; and, one day, she said to her father:

'If the hair is mine, and the king requires me to marry his son, I
must do so; but, remember, you must tell him that if, after the
wedding, I stay all day at the palace, every night will be spent in my
old home.'

The old man listened to her with amazement, but answered nothing, as
he knew she was wiser than he. Of course the hair was Dorani's, and
heralds soon returned and informed the king, their master, who
summoned the scent-seller, and told him that he wished for his
daughter to be given in marriage to the prince. The father bowed his
head three times to the ground, and replied:

'Your highness is our lord, and all that you bid us we will do. The
maiden asks this only--that if, after the wedding, she stays all day
at the palace, she may go back each night to her father's house.'

The king thought this a very strange request; but said to himself it
was, after all, his son's affair, and the girl would surely soon get
tired of going to and fro. So he made no difficulty, and everything
was speedily arranged and the wedding was celebrated with great
rejoicings.

At first, the condition attaching to his wedding with the lovely
Dorani troubled the prince very little, for he thought that he would
at least see his bride all day. But, to his dismay, he found that she
would do nothing but sit the whole time upon a stool with her head
bowed forward upon her knees, and he could never persuade her to say a
single word. Each evening she was carried in a palanquin to her
father's house, and each morning she was brought back soon after
daybreak; and yet never a sound passed her lips, nor did she show by
any sign that she saw, or heard, or heeded her husband.

One evening the prince, very unhappy and troubled, was wandering in an
old and beautiful garden near the palace. The gardener was a very aged
man, who had served the prince's great grandfather; and when he saw
the prince he came and bowed himself to him, and said:

'Child! child! why do you look so sad--is aught the matter?' Then the
prince replied, 'I am sad, old friend, because I have married a wife
as lovely as the stars, but she will not speak to me, and I know not
what to do. Night after night she leaves me for her father's house,
and day after day she sits in mine as though turned to stone, and
utters no word, whatever I may do or say.'

The old man stood thinking for a moment, and then he hobbled off to
his own cottage. A little later he came back to the prince with five
or six small packets, which he placed in his hands and said:

'To-morrow, when your bride leaves the palace, sprinkle the powder
from one of these packets upon your body, and while seeing clearly,
you will become yourself invisible. More I cannot do for you, but may
all go well!'

And the prince thanked him, and put the packets carefully away in his
turban.

The next night, when Dorani left for her father's house in her
palanquin, the prince took out a packet of the magic powder and
sprinkled it over himself, and then hurried after her. He soon found
that, as the old man had promised, he was invisible to everyone,
although he felt as usual, and could see all that passed. He speedily
overtook the palanquin and walked beside it to the scent-seller's
dwelling. There it was set down, and, when his bride, closely veiled,
left it and entered the house, he, too, entered unperceived.

At the first door Dorani removed one veil; then she entered another
doorway at the end of a passage where she removed another veil; next
she mounted the stairs, and at the door of the women's quarters
removed a third veil. After this she proceeded to her own room where
were set two large basins, one of attar of roses and one of water; in
these she washed herself, and afterwards called for food. A servant
brought her a bowl of curds, which she ate hastily, and then arrayed
herself in a robe of silver, and wound about her strings of pearls,
while a wreath of roses crowned her hair. When fully dressed, she
seated herself upon a four-legged stool over which was a canopy with
silken curtains, these she drew around her, and then called out:

'Fly, stool, to the palace of rajah Indra.'

Instantly the stool rose in the air, and the invisible prince, who had
watched all these proceedings with great wonder, seized it by one leg
as it flew away, and found himself being borne through the air at a
rapid rate.

In a short while they arrived at the house of the fairy who, as I told
you before, was the favourite friend of Dorani. The fairy stood
waiting on the threshold, as beautifully dressed as Dorani herself
was, and when the stool stopped at her door she cried in astonishment:

'Why, the stool is flying all crooked to-day! What is the reason of
that, I wonder? I suspect that you have been talking to your husband,
and so it will not fly straight.'

But Dorani declared that she had not spoken one word to him, and she
couldn't think why the stool flew as if weighed down at one side. The
fairy still looked doubtful, but made no answer, and took her seat
beside Dorani, the prince again holding tightly one leg. Then the
stool flew on through the air until it came to the palace of Indra the
rajah.

All through the night the women sang and danced before the rajah
Indra, whilst a magic lute played of itself the most bewitching music;
till the prince, who sat watching it all, was quite entranced. Just
before dawn the rajah gave the signal to cease; and again the two
women seated themselves on the stool, and, with the prince clinging to
the leg, it flew back to earth, and bore Dorani and her husband safely
to the scent-seller's shop. Here the prince hurried away by himself
past Dorani's palanquin with its sleepy bearers, straight on to the
palace; and, as he passed the threshold of his own rooms he became
visible again. Then he lay down upon a couch and waited for Dorani's
arrival.

  [Illustration: THE INVISIBLE PRINCE GOES WITH THE LADIES]

As soon as she arrived she took a seat and remained as silent as
usual, with her head bowed on her knees. For a while not a sound was
heard, but presently the prince said:

'I dreamed a curious dream last night, and as it was all about you I
am going to tell it you, although you heed nothing.'

The girl, indeed, took no notice of his words, but in spite of that he
proceeded to relate every single thing that had happened the evening
before, leaving out no detail of all that he had seen or heard. And
when he praised her singing--and his voice shook a little--Dorani just
looked at him; but she said naught, though, in her own mind, she was
filled with wonder. 'What a dream!' she thought. 'Could it have been a
dream? How could he have learnt in a dream all she had done or said?'
Still she kept silent; only she looked that once at the prince, and
then remained all day as before, with her head bowed upon her knees.

When night came the prince again made himself invisible and followed
her. The same things happened again as had happened before, but Dorani
sang better than ever. In the morning the prince a second time told
Dorani all that she had done, pretending that he had dreamt of it.
Directly he had finished Dorani gazed at him, and said:

'Is it true that you dreamt this, or were you really there?'

'I was there,' answered the prince.

'But why do you follow me?' asked the girl.

'Because,' replied the prince, 'I love you, and to be with you is
happiness.'

This time Dorani's eyelids quivered; but she said no more, and was
silent the rest of the day. However, in the evening, just as she was
stepping into her palanquin, she said to the prince:

'If you love me, prove it by not following me to-night.'

And so the prince did as she wished, and stayed at home.

That evening the magic stool flew so unsteadily that they could hardly
keep their seats, and at last the fairy exclaimed:

'There is only one reason that it should jerk like this! You have been
talking to your husband!'

And Dorani replied: 'Yes, I have spoken; oh, yes, I have spoken!' But
no more would she say.

That night Dorani sang so marvellously that at the end the rajah Indra
rose up and vowed that she might ask what she would and he would give
it to her. At first she was silent; but, when he pressed her, she
answered:

'Give me the magic lute.'

The rajah, when he heard this, was displeased with himself for having
made so rash a promise, because this lute he valued above all his
possessions. But as he had promised, so he must perform, and with an
ill grace he handed it to her.

'You must never come here again,' said he, 'for, once having asked so
much, how will you in future be content with smaller gifts?'

Dorani bowed her head silently as she took the lute, and passed with
the fairy out of the great gate, where the stool awaited them. More
unsteadily than before, it flew back to earth.

When Dorani got to the palace that morning she asked the prince
whether he had dreamt again. He laughed with happiness, for this time
she had spoken to him of her own free will; and he replied:

'No; but I begin to dream now--not of what _has_ happened in the past,
but of what _may_ happen in the future.'

That day Dorani sat very quietly, but she answered the prince when he
spoke to her; and when evening fell, and with it the time for her
departure, she still sat on. Then the prince came close to her and
said softly:

'Are you not going to your house, Dorani?'

At that she rose and threw herself weeping into his arms, whispering
gently:

'Never again, my lord, never again would I leave thee!'

So the prince won his beautiful bride; and though they neither of them
dealt any further with fairies and their magic, they learnt more daily
of the magic of Love, which one may still learn, although fairy magic
has fled away.

(Punjâbi Story, Major Campbell, Feroshepore.)




_THE SATIN SURGEON_


Once upon a time there was a very rich and powerful king who, in spite
of having been married several times, had only two daughters.

The elder was extremely plain--she squinted and was hunchbacked; but
at the same time she was very clever and amusing, so, though at heart
both spiteful and untruthful, she was her father's favourite.

The younger princess, on the other hand, was both lovely and
sweet-tempered, and those who knew her well could hardly say whether
her charming face or pleasant manners was the more attractive.

The neighbouring country was governed by a young emperor, who, though
not much over twenty years of age, had shown great courage in battle,
and, had he wished it, might very likely have conquered the whole
world. Luckily he preferred peace to war, and occupied his time with
trying to rule his own kingdom well and wisely. His people were very
anxious that he should marry, and as the two princesses were the only
ladies to be heard of of suitable age and rank, the emperor sent
envoys to their father's court to ask for the hand of one of them in
marriage. But, as he was resolved only to marry a woman whom he could
love and be happy with, he determined to see the lady himself before
making up his mind. For this purpose he set out in disguise not long
after the departure of his ambassadors, and arrived at the palace very
soon after they did; but as he had foolishly kept his plan secret, he
found, when he reached the court, that they had already made proposals
for the elder princess.

Now the emperor might just as well have gone openly, for his presence
soon became known; and when the king heard of it he prepared to
receive him royally, though of course he had to pretend that he had no
idea who he was. So it was settled that the ambassadors should present
their master under the name of one of the princes, and in this manner
he was received by the king.

At night there was a grand ball at which the young emperor was able to
see the two princesses and to make their acquaintance. The ugly face
and figure and spiteful remarks of the elder displeased him so greatly
that he felt he could not marry her even if she owned ten kingdoms,
whilst the sweet face and gentle manners of the younger sister charmed
him so much that he would gladly have shared his throne with her had
she been only a simple shepherdess.

He found it very difficult to conceal his thoughts and to pay the
elder princess the amount of attention due to her, though he did his
best to be polite; while all he saw or heard during the next few days
only increased his love for her younger sister, and at last he
confessed that his dearest wish was to make her his wife, if she and
her father would grant his desire.

He had commanded his ambassadors to put off their farewell audience
for a little time, hoping that the king might perceive the state of
his feelings; but when it could be deferred no longer, he bade them
propose in his name for the younger princess.

On hearing this news, so different from what he had been led to
expect, the king who--as we have said before--was devoted to his elder
daughter and entirely under her influence, could hardly contain his
displeasure. Directly the audience was over he sent for the princess
and told her of the insolent proposal the emperor had made for her
sister. The princess was even more furious than her father, and after
consulting together they decided to send the younger daughter to some
distant place out of reach of the young emperor; but _where_ this
should be they did not quite know. However, at length, after they had
both racked their brains to find a suitable prison, they fixed on a
lonely castle called the Desert Tower, where they thought she would be
quite safe.

Meantime, it was thought best to let the court gaieties go on as
usual, and orders were given for all sorts of splendid entertainments;
and on the day that was fixed for carrying off the princess, the whole
court was invited to a great hunt in the forest.

The emperor and the young princess were counting the hours till this
morning, which promised to be so delightful, should dawn. The king and
his guest arrived together at the meeting-place, but what was the
surprise and distress of the young man at not seeing the object of his
love amongst the ladies present. He waited anxiously, looking up and
down, not hearing anything that the king said to him; and when the
hunt began and she still was absent, he declined to follow, and spent
the whole day seeking her, but in vain.

  [Illustration: THE PRINCESS GETS HER LETTER]

On his return, one of his attendants told him that some hours before
he had met the princess's carriage, escorted by a troop of soldiers
who were riding on each side, so that no one could get speech of her.
He had followed them at a distance, and saw them stop at the Desert
Tower, and on its return he noticed that the carriage was empty. The
emperor was deeply grieved by this news. He left the court at once,
and ordered his ambassadors to declare war the very next day, unless
the king promised to set free the princess. And more than this, no
sooner had he reached his own country than he raised a large army,
with which he seized the frontier towns, before his enemy had had time
to collect any troops. But, ere he quitted the court, he took care to
write a letter to his beloved princess, imploring her to have
patience and trust to him; and this he gave into the hands of his
favourite equerry, who would he knew lay down his life in his service.

With many precautions the equerry managed to examine the surroundings
of the tower, and at last discovered, not only where the princess
lodged, but that a little window in her room looked out on a desolate
plot full of brambles.

Now the unhappy princess was much annoyed that she was not even
allowed to take the air at this little window, which was the only one
in her room. Her keeper was her elder sister's former nurse, a woman
whose eyes never slept. Not for an instant could she be induced to
stir from the side of the princess, and she watched her slightest
movement.

One day, however, the spy was for once busy in her room writing an
account of the princess to her elder sister, and the poor prisoner
seized the opportunity to lean out of the window. As she looked about
her she noticed a man hidden amongst the bushes, who stepped forward
as soon as he caught sight of her, and showed her a letter, which he
took from his jerkin. She at once recognised him as one of the
emperor's attendants, and let down a long string, to which he tied the
letter. You can fancy how quickly she drew it up again, and luckily
she had just time to read it before her gaoler had finished her report
and entered the room.

The princess's delight was great, and next day she managed to write an
answer on a sheet of her note book, and to throw it down to the
equerry, who hastened to carry it back to his master. The emperor was
so happy at having news of his dear princess, that he resolved, at all
risks, to visit the Desert Tower himself, if only to see her for a
moment. He ordered his equerry to ask leave to visit her, and the
princess replied that she should indeed rejoice to see him, but that
she feared that her gaoler's watchfulness would make his journey
useless, unless he came during the short time when the old woman was
writing alone in her own room.

Naturally, the bare idea of difficulties only made the emperor more
eager than ever. He was ready to run any risks, but, by the advice of
the equerry, he decided to try cunning rather than force. In his next
letter he enclosed a sleeping powder, which the princess managed to
mix with her gaoler's supper, so that when the emperor reached the
tower in the evening the princess appeared fearlessly at her window on
hearing his signal. They had a long and delightful conversation, and
parted in the fond hope that their meeting had not been observed. But
in this they were sadly mistaken. The watchful eyes of the old nurse
were proof against any sleeping draught--she had seen and heard all;
and lost no time in writing to report everything to her mistress.

The news made the spiteful little hunchback furious, and she resolved
to be cruelly revenged for the contempt with which the emperor had
treated her. She ordered her nurse to pretend not to notice what might
be passing, and meantime she had a trap made so that if the emperor
pushed his way through the brambles at the foot of the tower, it would
not only catch him, as if he were a mouse, but would let loose a
number of poisoned arrows, which would pierce him all over. When it
was ready, the trap was hidden amongst the brambles without being
observed by the princess.

That same evening the emperor hurried to the tower with all the
impatience of love. As he came near he heard the princess break into a
long, joyous peal of laughter. He advanced quickly to give the usual
signal, when suddenly his foot trod on something, he knew not what. A
sharp, stinging pain ran through him, and he turned white and faint,
but, luckily, the trap had only opened a little way, and only a few of
the arrows flew out. For a moment he staggered, and then fell to the
ground covered with blood.

Had he been alone he would have died very shortly, but his faithful
squire was close at hand, and carried his master off to the wood where
the rest of his escort were waiting for him. His wounds were bound up,
and some poles were cut to make a rough litter, and, almost
unconscious, the emperor was borne away out of his enemy's country to
his own palace.

All this time the princess was feeling very anxious. She had been
whiling away the hours before this meeting by playing with a little
pet monkey, which had been making such funny faces that, in spite of
her troubles, she had burst into the hearty laugh overheard by the
emperor. But by-and-by she grew restless, waiting for the signal which
never came, and, had she dared, would certainly have rebelled when her
gaoler, whom she believed to be fast asleep, ordered her to go to bed
at once.

A fortnight passed, which was spent in great anxiety by the poor girl,
who grew thin and weak with the uncertainty. At the end of this
period, when the nurse went to her room one morning as usual in order
to write her daily report, she carelessly left the key in the door.
This was perceived by the princess, who turned it upon her so quickly
and quietly that she never found out she was locked in till she had
finished writing, and got up to seek her charge.

Finding herself free, the princess flew to the window, and to her
horror saw the arrows lying about amongst the bloodstained brambles.
Distracted with terror she slipped down the stairs and out of the
tower, and ran for some time along a path, when with great good luck
she met the husband of her own nurse, who had only just learned of her
imprisonment, and was on his way to try and find out whether he could
serve her. The princess begged him to get her some men's clothes while
she awaited him in a little wood close by. The good man was overjoyed
to be of use, and started at once for the nearest town, where he soon
discovered a shop where the court lackeys were accustomed to sell
their masters' cast-off clothes. The princess dressed herself at once
in the disguise he had brought, which was of rich material and covered
with precious stones; and, putting her own garments into a bag, which
her servant hung over his shoulders, they both set out on their
journey.

This lasted longer than either of them expected. They walked by day as
far as the princess could manage, and by night they slept in the open
air. One evening they camped in a lovely valley watered by a rippling
stream, and towards morning the princess was awakened by a charming
voice singing one of the songs of her own childhood. Anxious to find
out where the sound came from, she walked to a thicket of myrtles,
where she saw a little boy with a quiver at his back and an ivory bow
in his hand, singing softly to himself as he smoothed the feathers of
his shafts.

'Are you surprised at seeing my eyes open?' he asked, with a smile.
'Ah! I am not always blind. And sometimes it is well to know what sort
of a heart needs piercing. It was I who sent out my darts the day that
you and the emperor met, so, as I have caused the wound, I am in duty
bound to find the cure!'

Then he gave her a little bottle full of a wonderful salve with which
to dress the emperor's wounds when she found him.

'In two days you can reach his palace,' he said. 'Do not waste time,
for sometimes time is life.'

The princess thanked the boy with tears in her eyes, and hastened to
awake her guide so that they might start, and set off at once on their
way.

  [Illustration: THE BOY IN THE VALLEY]

As the boy had foretold, in two days the tower and walls of the city
came in sight, and her heart beat wildly at the thought that she would
soon be face to face with the emperor, but on inquiring after his
health she learned, to her horror, that he was sinking fast. For a
moment her grief was so great that she nearly betrayed herself. Then,
calling all her courage to her aid, she announced that she was a
doctor, and that if they would leave him in her charge for a few days
she would promise to cure him.

Now, in order to make a good appearance at court the new doctor
resolved to have an entire suit made of pale blue satin. She bought
the richest, most splendid stuff to be had in the shops, and summoned
a tailor to make it for her, engaging to pay him double if he would
finish the work in two hours. Next she went to the market, where she
bought a fine mule, bidding her servant see that its harness was
adorned with trappings of blue satin also.

Whilst all was being made ready the princess asked the woman in whose
house she lived whether she knew any of the emperor's attendants, and
found to her satisfaction that her cousin was his majesty's chief
valet. The doctor then bade the woman inform everyone she met that on
hearing of the emperor's illness a celebrated surgeon had hastened to
attend him, and had undertaken to cure him entirely; declaring himself
prepared to be burnt alive in case of failure.

The good woman, who loved nothing better than a bit of gossip, hurried
to the palace with her news. Her story did not lose in telling. The
court physicians were very scornful about the new-comer, but the
emperor's attendants remarked that as, in spite of their remedies, his
majesty was dying before their eyes, there could be no harm in
consulting this stranger.

So the lord chamberlain begged the young doctor to come and prescribe
for the royal patient without delay; and the doctor sent a message at
once, that he would do himself the honour to present himself at the
palace, and he lost no time in mounting his mule and setting out. As
the people and soldiers saw him ride past they cried out:

'Here comes the Satin Surgeon! Look at the Satin Surgeon! Long live
the Satin Surgeon!' And, on arriving, he was announced by this name,
and at once taken to the sick room of the dying man.

The emperor was lying with his eyes closed, and his face as white as
the pillow itself; but directly he heard the new-comer's voice, he
looked up and smiled, and signed that he wished the new doctor to
remain near him. Making a low bow, the Satin Surgeon assured the
emperor that he felt certain of curing his malady, but insisted that
everyone should leave the room except the emperor's favourite equerry.
He then dressed the wounds with the magic salve which the boy had
given him, and it so relieved the emperor's pain that he slept soundly
all that night.

When morning broke, the courtiers and doctors hurried to the emperor's
chamber, and were much surprised to find him free of pain. But they
were promptly ordered out of the room by the Satin Surgeon, who
renewed the dressings with such good results that next morning the
emperor was nearly well, and able to leave his bed. As he grew
stronger, his thoughts dwelt more and more on the cause of all his
sufferings, and his spirits grew worse as his health grew better. The
face and voice of his new doctor reminded him of the princess who had,
he imagined, betrayed him, and caused him such dreadful torture; and,
unable to bear the thought, his eyes filled with tears.

The doctor noticed his sad countenance and did all he could to enliven
his patient with cheerful talk and amusing stories, till at last he
won the emperor's confidence and heard all the story of his love for a
lady who had treated him cruelly, but whom, in spite of everything, he
could not help loving. The Satin Surgeon listened with sympathy, and
tried to persuade the emperor that possibly the princess was not so
much to blame as might appear; but, eager though the sick man was to
believe this, it took a long while to persuade him of it. At length a
day came when the emperor was nearly well, and for the last time the
doctor dressed the wounds with the precious salve. Then, both patient
and surgeon, being wearied out with something they could not explain,
fell asleep and slept for hours.

Early next morning, the princess, having decided to resume her own
clothes which she had brought with her in a bag, dressed herself with
great care and put on all her jewels so as to make herself look as
lovely as possible. She had just finished when the emperor awoke,
feeling so strong and well that he thought he must be dreaming, nor
could he believe himself to be awake when he saw the princess draw
aside his curtains.

For some minutes they gazed at each other, unable to speak, and then
they only uttered little gasps of joy and thankfulness. By-and-by the
princess told him the whole story of her adventures since their last
interview at the Desert Tower; and the emperor, weak as he was, threw
himself at her feet with vows of love and gratitude, without ever
giving a thought to the fact that the household and court physicians
were awaiting their summons in the ante-room.

The emperor, anxious to prove how much he owed to the Satin Surgeon,
opened his door himself, and great was everyone's surprise and joy at
seeing him in such perfect health. Like good courtiers, they hastened
in to praise and compliment the Satin Surgeon, but what was their
astonishment on finding that he had disappeared, leaving in his place
the loveliest princess in the whole world.

'Whilst thanking the surgeon for his miraculous cure, you might at the
same time do homage to your empress,' observed the emperor. He wished
to have the marriage celebrated the same day, but the princess
declared that she must wait to get her father's permission first.

Messengers were therefore instantly despatched to the neighbouring
capital, and soon returned with the king's consent, for he had lately
discovered all the mischief caused by his elder daughter.

The spiteful princess was so furious at the failure of her plans that
she took to her bed, and died in a fit of rage and jealousy. No one
grieved for her, and the king, being tired of the fatigues of
Government, gave up his crown to his younger daughter; so the two
kingdoms henceforth became one.

(From the _Cabinet des Fées_.)




_THE BILLY GOAT AND THE KING_


Once there lived a certain king who understood the language of all
birds and beasts and insects. This knowledge had of course been given
him by a fairy godmother; but it was rather a troublesome present, for
he knew that if he were ever to reveal anything he had thus learned he
would turn into a stone. How he managed to avoid doing so long before
this story opens I cannot say, but he had safely grown up to manhood,
and married a wife, and was as happy as monarchs generally are.

This king, I must tell you, was a Hindu; and when a Hindu eats his
food he has a nice little place on the ground freshly plastered with
mud, and he sits in the middle of it with very few clothes on--which
is quite a different way from ours.

Well, one day the king was eating his dinner in just such a nice,
clean, mud-plastered spot, and his wife was sitting opposite to wait
upon him and keep him company. As he ate he dropped some grains of
rice upon the ground, and a little ant, who was running about seeking
a living, seized upon one of the grains and bore it off towards his
hole. Just outside the king's circle this ant met another ant, and the
king heard the second one say:

'Oh, dear friend, do give me that grain of rice, and get another one
for yourself. You see my boots are so dirty that, if I were to go upon
the king's eating place, I should defile it, and I can't do that, it
would be so very rude.'

But the owner of the grain of rice only replied:

'If you want rice go and get it. No one will notice your dirty boots;
and you don't suppose that I am going to carry rice for all our
kindred?'

Then the king laughed.

The queen looked at herself up and down, but she could not see or feel
anything in her appearance to make the king laugh, so she said:

'What are you laughing at?'

'Did I laugh?' replied the king.

'Of course you did,' retorted the queen; 'and if you think that I am
ridiculous I wish you would say so, instead of behaving in that stupid
way! What are you laughing at?'

'I'm not laughing at anything,' answered the king.

'Very well, but you _did_ laugh, and I want to know why.'

'Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you,' said the king.

'You _must_ tell me,' replied the queen impatiently. 'If you laugh
when there's nothing to laugh at you must be ill or mad. What is the
matter?'

Still the king refused to say, and still the queen declared that she
must and would know. For days the quarrel went on, and the queen gave
her husband no rest, until at last the poor man was almost out of his
wits, and thought that, as life had become for him hardly worth living
while this went on, he might as well tell her the secret and take the
consequences.

'But,' thought he, 'if I am to become a stone, I am not going to lie,
if I can help it, on some dusty highway, to be kicked here and there
by man and beast, flung at dogs, be used as the plaything of naughty
children, and become generally restless and miserable. I will be a
stone at the bottom of the cool river, and roll gently about there
until I find some secure resting-place where I can stay for ever.'

So he told his wife that if she would ride with him to the middle of
the river he would tell her what he had laughed at. She thought he
was joking, and laughingly agreed; their horses were ordered and they
set out.

  [Illustration: THE KING LAUGHS AT THE BILLYGOAT]

On the way they came to a fine well beneath the shade of some lofty,
wide-spreading trees, and the king proposed that they should get off
and rest a little, drink some of the cool water, and then pass on. To
this the queen consented; so they dismounted and sat down in the
shade by the well-side to rest.

It happened that an old goat and his wife were browsing in the
neighbourhood, and, as the king and queen sat there, the nanny goat
came to the well's brink and peering over saw some lovely green leaves
that sprang in tender shoots out of the side of the well.

'Oh!' cried she to her husband, 'come quickly and look. Here are some
leaves which make my mouth water; come and get them for me!'

Then the billy goat sauntered up and looked over, and after that he
eyed his wife a little crossly.

'You expect me to get you those leaves, do you? I suppose you don't
consider how in the world I am to reach them? You don't seem to think
at all; if you did you would know that if I tried to reach those
leaves I should fall into the well and be drowned!'

'Oh,' cried the nanny goat, 'why should you fall in? Do try and get
them!'

'I am not going to be so silly,' replied the billy goat.

But the nanny goat still wept and entreated.

'Look here,' said her husband, 'there are plenty of fools in the
world, but I am not one of them. This silly king here, because he
can't cure his wife of asking questions, is going to throw his life
away. But I know how to cure you of your follies, and I'm going to.'

And with that he butted the nanny goat so severely that in two minutes
she was submissively feeding somewhere else, and had made up her mind
that the leaves in the well were not worth having.

Then the king, who had understood every word, laughed once more.

The queen looked at him suspiciously, but the king got up and walked
across to where she sat.

'Are you still determined to find out what I was laughing at the other
day?' he asked.

'Quite,' answered the queen angrily.

'Because,' said the king, tapping his leg with his riding whip, 'I've
made up my mind not to tell you, and moreover, I have made up my mind
to stop you mentioning the subject any more.'

'What _do_ you mean?' asked the queen nervously.

'Well,' replied the king, 'I notice that if that goat is displeased
with his wife, he just butts her, and that seems to settle the
question----'

'Do you mean to say you would _beat_ me?' cried the queen.

'I should be extremely sorry to have to do so,' replied the king; 'but
I have got to persuade you to go home quietly, and to ask no more
silly questions when I say I cannot answer them. Of course, if you
_will_ persist, why----'

And the queen went home, and so did the king; and it is said that they
are both happier and wiser than ever before.

(Punjâbi Story, Major Campbell, Feroshepore)




_THE STORY OF ZOULVISIA_


In the midst of a sandy desert, somewhere in Asia, the eyes of
travellers are refreshed by the sight of a high mountain covered with
beautiful trees, among which the glitter of foaming waterfalls may be
seen in the sunlight. In that clear, still air it is even possible to
hear the song of the birds, and smell of the flowers; but though the
mountain is plainly inhabited--for here and there a white tent is
visible--none of the kings or princes who pass it on the road to
Babylon or Baalbec ever plunge into its forests--or, if they do, they
never come back. Indeed, so great is the terror caused by the evil
reputation of the mountain that fathers, on their death-beds, pray
their sons never to try to fathom its mysteries. But in spite of its
ill-fame, a certain number of young men every year announce their
intention of visiting it and, as we have said, are never seen again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now there was once a powerful king who ruled over a country on the
other side of the desert, and, when dying, gave the usual counsel to
his seven sons. Hardly, however, was he dead than the eldest, who
succeeded to the throne, announced his intention of hunting in the
enchanted mountain. In vain the old men shook their heads and tried to
persuade him to give up his mad scheme. All was useless; he went, but
did not return; and in due time the throne was filled by his next
brother.

And so it happened to the other five, but when the youngest became
king, and he also proclaimed a hunt in the mountain, a loud lament was
raised in the city.

'Who will reign over us when you are dead? For dead you surely will
be,' cried they. 'Stay with us, and we will make you happy.' And for a
while he listened to their prayers, and the land grew rich and
prosperous under his rule. But in a few years the restless fit again
took possession of him, and this time he would hear nothing. Hunt in
that forest he would, and calling his friends and attendants round
him, he set out one morning across the desert.

They were riding through a rocky valley, when a deer sprang up in
front of them and bounded away. The king instantly gave chase,
followed by his attendants; but the animal ran so swiftly that they
never could get up to it, and at length it vanished in the depths of
the forest.

Then the young man drew rein for the first time, and looked about him.
He had left his companions far behind, and, glancing back, he beheld
them entering some tents, dotted here and there amongst the trees. For
himself, the fresh coolness of the woods was more attractive to him
than any food, however delicious, and for hours he strolled about as
his fancy led him.

By-and-by, however, it began to grow dark, and he thought that the
moment had arrived for them to start for the palace. So, leaving the
forest with a sigh, he made his way down to the tents, but what was
his horror to find his men lying about, some dead, some dying. These
were past speech, but speech was needless. It was as clear as day that
the wine they had drunk contained deadly poison.

'I am too late to help you, my poor friends,' he said, gazing at them
sadly; 'but at least I can avenge you! Those that have set the snare
will certainly return to see to its working. I will hide myself
somewhere, and discover who they are!'

Near the spot where he stood he noticed a large walnut tree, and into
this he climbed. Night soon fell, and nothing broke the stillness of
the place; but with the earliest glimpse of dawn a noise of galloping
hoofs was heard.

Pushing the branches aside the young man beheld a youth approaching,
mounted on a white horse. On reaching the tents the cavalier
dismounted, and closely inspected the dead bodies that lay about them.
Then, one by one, he dragged them to a ravine close by and threw them
into a lake at the bottom. While he was doing this, the servants who
had followed him led away the horses of the ill-fated men, and the
courtiers were ordered to let loose the deer, which was used as a
decoy, and to see that the tables in the tents were covered as before
with food and wine.

Having made these arrangements he strolled slowly through the forest,
but great was his surprise to come upon a beautiful horse hidden in
the depths of a thicket.

'There was a horse for every dead man,' he said to himself. 'Then
whose is this?'

'Mine!' answered a voice from a walnut tree close by. 'Who are you
that lure men into your power and then poison them? But you shall do
so no longer. Return to your house, wherever it may be, and we will
fight before it!'

The cavalier remained speechless with anger at these words; then with
a great effort he replied:

'I accept your challenge. Mount and follow me. I am Zoulvisia.' And,
springing on his horse, he was out of sight so quickly that the king
had only time to notice that light seemed to flow from himself and his
steed, and that the hair under his helmet was like liquid gold.

Clearly, the cavalier was a woman. But who could she be? Was she queen
of all the queens? Or was she chief of a band of robbers? She was
neither: only a beautiful maiden.

  [Illustration: 'I ACCEPT YOUR CHALLENGE. MOUNT AND FOLLOW ME. I AM
      ZOULVISIA.']

Wrapped in these reflections, he remained standing beneath the
walnut tree, long after horse and rider had vanished from sight. Then
he awoke with a start, to remember that he must find the way to the
house of his enemy, though where it was he had no notion. However, he
took the path down which the rider had come, and walked along it for
many hours till he came to three huts side by side, in each of which
lived an old fairy and her sons.

The poor king was by this time so tired and hungry that he could
hardly speak, but when he had drunk some milk, and rested a little, he
was able to reply to the questions they eagerly put to him.

'I am going to seek Zoulvisia,' said he, 'she has slain my brothers
and many of my subjects, and I mean to avenge them.'

He had only spoken to the inhabitants of one house, but from all three
came an answering murmur.

'What a pity we did not know! Twice this day has she passed our door,
and we might have kept her prisoner.'

But though their words were brave their hearts were not, for the mere
thought of Zoulvisia made them tremble.

'Forget Zoulvisia, and stay with us,' they all said, holding out their
hands; 'you shall be our big brother, and we will be your little
brothers.' But the king would not.

Drawing from his pocket a pair of scissors, a razor and a mirror, he
gave one to each of the old fairies, saying:

'Though I may not give up my vengeance I accept your friendship, and
therefore leave you these three tokens. If blood should appear on the
face of either know that my life is in danger, and, in memory of our
sworn brotherhood, come to my aid.'

'We will come,' they answered. And the king mounted his horse and set
out along the road they showed him.

By the light of the moon he presently perceived a splendid palace,
but, though he rode twice round it, he could find no door. He was
considering what he should do next, when he heard the sound of loud
snoring, which seemed to come from his feet. Looking down, he beheld
an old man lying at the bottom of a deep pit, just outside the walls,
with a lantern by his side.

'Perhaps _he_ may be able to give me some counsel,' thought the king;
and, with some difficulty, he scrambled into the pit and laid his hand
on the shoulder of the sleeper.

'Are you a bird or a snake that you can enter here?' asked the old
man, awakening with a start. But the king answered that he was a mere
mortal, and that he sought Zoulvisia.

'Zoulvisia? The world's curse?' replied he, gnashing his teeth. 'Out
of all the thousands she has slain I am the only one who has escaped,
though why she spared me only to condemn me to this living death I
cannot guess.'

'Help me if you can,' said the king. And he told the old man his
story, to which he listened intently.

'Take heed then to my counsel,' answered the old man. 'Know that every
day at sunrise Zoulvisia dresses herself in her jacket of pearls, and
mounts the steps of her crystal watch-tower. From there she can see
all over her lands, and behold the entrance of either man or demon. If
so much as one is detected she utters such fearful cries that those
who hear her die of fright. But hide yourself in a cave that lies near
the foot of the tower, and plant a forked stick in front of it; then,
when she has uttered her third cry, go forth boldly, and look up at
the tower. And go without fear, for you will have broken her power.'

  [Illustration: THE ASCENT OF THE CRYSTAL TOWER]

Word for word the king did as the old man had bidden him, and when
he stepped forth from the cave, their eyes met.

'You have conquered me,' said Zoulvisia, 'and are worthy to be my
husband, for you are the first man who has not died at the sound of my
voice!' And letting down her golden hair, she drew up the king to the
summit of the tower as with a rope. Then she led him into the hall of
audience, and presented him to her household.

'Ask of me what you will, and I will grant it to you,' whispered
Zoulvisia with a smile, as they sat together on a mossy bank by the
stream. And the king prayed her to set free the old man to whom he
owed his life, and to send him back to his own country.

       *       *       *       *       *

'I have finished with hunting, and with riding about my lands,' said
Zoulvisia, the day that they were married. 'The care of providing for
us all belongs henceforth to you.' And turning to her attendants, she
bade them bring the horse of fire before her.

'This is your master, O my steed of flame,' cried she; 'and you will
serve him as you have served me.' And kissing him between his eyes,
she placed the bridle in the hand of her husband.

The horse looked for a moment at the young man, and then bent his
head, while the king patted his neck and smoothed his tail, till they
felt themselves old friends. After this he mounted to do Zoulvisia's
bidding, but before he started she gave him a case of pearls
containing one of her hairs, which he tucked into the breast of his
coat.

He rode along for some time, without seeing any game to bring home for
dinner. Suddenly a fine stag started up almost under his feet, and he
at once gave chase. On they sped, but the stag twisted and turned so
that the king had no chance of a shot till they reached a broad river,
when the animal jumped in and swam across. The king fitted his
cross-bow with a bolt, and took aim, but though he succeeded in
wounding the stag, it contrived to gain the opposite bank, and in his
excitement he never observed that the case of pearls had fallen into
the water.

       *       *       *       *       *

The stream, though deep, was likewise rapid, and the box was swirled
along miles, and miles, and miles, till it was washed up in quite
another country. Here it was picked up by one of the water-carriers
belonging to the palace, who showed it to the king. The workmanship of
the case was so curious, and the pearls so rare, that the king could
not make up his mind to part with it, but he gave the man a good
price, and sent him away. Then, summoning his chamberlain, he bade him
find out its history in three days, or lose his head.

But the answer to the riddle, which puzzled all the magicians and wise
men, was given by an old woman, who came up to the palace and told the
chamberlain that, for two handfuls of gold, she would reveal the
mystery.

Of course the chamberlain gladly gave her what she asked, and in
return she informed him that the case and the hair belonged to
Zoulvisia.

'Bring her hither, old crone, and you shall have gold enough to stand
up in,' said the chamberlain. And the old woman answered that she
would try what she could do.

She went back to her hut in the middle of the forest, and standing in
the doorway, whistled softly. Soon the dead leaves on the ground began
to move and to rustle, and from underneath them there came a long
train of serpents. They wriggled to the feet of the witch, who stooped
down and patted their heads, and gave each one some milk in a red
earthen basin. When they had all finished, she whistled again, and
bade two or three coil themselves round her arms and neck, while she
turned one into a cane and another into a whip. Then she took a
stick, and on the river bank changed it into a raft, and seating
herself comfortably, she pushed off into the centre of the stream.

All that day she floated, and all the next night, and towards sunset
the following evening she found herself close to Zoulvisia's garden,
just at the moment that the king, on the horse of flame, was returning
from hunting.

'Who are you?' he asked in surprise; for old women travelling on rafts
were not common in that country. 'Who are you, and why have you come
here?'

'I am a poor pilgrim, my son,' answered she, 'and having missed the
caravan, I have wandered foodless for many days through the desert,
till at length I reached the river. There I found this tiny raft, and
to it I committed myself, not knowing if I should live or die. But
since you have found me, give me, I pray you, bread to eat, and let me
lie this night by the dog who guards your door!'

This piteous tale touched the heart of the young man, and he promised
that he would bring her food, and that she should pass the night in
his palace.

'But mount behind me, good woman,' cried he, 'for you have walked far,
and it is still a long way to the palace.' And as he spoke he bent
down to help her, but the horse swerved on one side.

And so it happened twice and thrice, and the old witch guessed the
reason, though the king did not.

'I fear to fall off,' said she; 'but as your kind heart pities my
sorrows, ride slowly, and lame as I am, I think I can manage to keep
up.'

At the door he bade the witch to rest herself, and he would fetch her
all she needed. But Zoulvisia his wife grew pale when she heard whom
he had brought, and besought him to feed the old woman and send her
away, as she would cause mischief to befall them.

The king laughed at her fears, and answered lightly:

'Why, one would think she was a witch to hear you talk! And even if
she were, what harm could she do to us?' And calling to the maidens he
bade them carry her food, and to let her sleep in their chamber.

Now the old woman was very cunning, and kept the maidens awake half
the night with all kinds of strange stories. Indeed, the next morning,
while they were dressing their mistress, one of them suddenly broke
into a laugh, in which the others joined her.

'What is the matter with you?' asked Zoulvisia. And the maid answered
that she was thinking of a droll adventure told them the evening
before by the new-comer.

'And, oh, madam!' cried the girl, 'it may be that she is a witch, as
they say; but I am sure she never would work a spell to harm a fly!
And as for her tales, they would pass many a dull hour for you, when
my lord was absent!'

So, in an evil hour, Zoulvisia consented that the crone should be
brought to her, and from that moment the two were hardly ever apart.

       *       *       *       *       *

One day the witch began to talk about the young king, and to declare
that in all the lands she had visited she had seen none like him.

'It was so clever of him to guess your secret so as to win your
heart,' said she. 'And of course he told you his, in return?'

'No, I don't think he has got any,' returned Zoulvisia.

'Not got any secrets?' cried the old woman scornfully. 'That is
nonsense! Every man has a secret, which he always tells to the woman
he loves. And if he has not told it to _you_, it is that he does not
love you!'

  [Illustration: THE WITCH AND HER SNAKES]

These words troubled Zoulvisia mightily, though she would not confess
it to the witch. But the next time she found herself alone with her
husband, she began to coax him to tell her in what lay the secret of
his strength. For a long while he put her off with caresses, but when
she would be no longer denied, he answered:

'It is my sabre that gives me strength, and day and night it lies by
my side. But now that I have told you, swear upon this ring, that I
will give you in exchange for yours, that you will reveal it to
nobody.' And Zoulvisia swore; and instantly hastened to betray the
great news to the old woman.

Four nights later, when all the world was asleep, the witch softly
crept into the king's chamber and took the sabre from his side as he
lay sleeping. Then, opening her lattice, she flew on to the terrace
and dropped the sword into the river.

The next morning everyone was surprised because the king did not, as
usual, rise early and go off to hunt. The attendants listened at the
keyhole and heard the sound of heavy breathing, but none dared enter,
till Zoulvisia pushed past. And what a sight met their gaze! There lay
the king almost dead, with foam on his mouth, and eyes that were
already closed. They wept, and they cried to him, but no answer came.

Suddenly a shriek broke from those who stood hindmost, and in strode
the witch, with serpents round her neck and arms and hair. At a sign
from her they flung themselves with a hiss upon the maidens, whose
flesh was pierced with their poisonous fangs. Then turning to
Zoulvisia, she said:

'I give you your choice--will you come with me, or shall the serpents
slay you also?' And as the terrified girl stared at her, unable to
utter one word, she seized her by the arm and led her to the place
where the raft was hidden among the rushes. When they were both on
board she took the oars, and they floated down the stream till they
had reached the neighbouring country, where Zoulvisia was sold for a
sack of gold to the king.

Now, since the young man had entered the three huts on his way
through the forest, not a morning had passed without the sons of the
three fairies examining the scissors, the razor and the mirror, which
the young king had left them. Hitherto the surfaces of all three
things had been bright and undimmed, but on this particular morning,
when they took them out as usual, drops of blood stood on the razor
and the scissors, while the little mirror was clouded over.

'Something terrible must have happened to our little brother,' they
whispered to each other, with awestruck faces; 'we must hasten to his
rescue ere it be too late.' And putting on their magic slippers they
started for the palace.

The servants greeted them eagerly, ready to pour forth all they knew,
but that was not much; only that the sabre had vanished, none knew
where. The new-comers passed the whole of the day in searching for it,
but it could not be found, and when night closed in, they were very
tired and hungry. But how were they to get food? The king had not
hunted that day, and there was nothing for them to eat. The little men
were in despair, when a ray of the moon suddenly lit up the river
beneath the walls.

'How stupid! Of course there are fish to catch,' cried they; and
running down to the bank they soon succeeded in landing some fine
fish, which they cooked on the spot. Then they felt better, and began
to look about them.

Further out, in the middle of the stream, there was a strange
splashing, and by-and-by the body of a huge fish appeared, turning and
twisting as if in pain. The eyes of all the brothers were fixed on the
spot, when the fish leapt in the air, and a bright gleam flashed
through the night. 'The sabre!' they shouted, and plunged into the
stream, and with a sharp tug, pulled out the sword, while the fish lay
on the water, exhausted by its struggles. Swimming back with the
sabre to land, they carefully dried it in their coats, and then
carried it to the palace and placed it on the king's pillow. In an
instant colour came back to the waxen face, and the hollow cheeks
filled out. The king sat up, and opening his eyes he said:

'Where is Zoulvisia?'

'That is what we do not know,' answered the little men; 'but now that
you are saved you will soon find out.' And they told him what had
happened since Zoulvisia had betrayed his secret to the witch.

'Let me go to my horse,' was all he said. But when he entered the
stable he could have wept at the sight of his favourite steed, which
was nearly in as sad a plight as his master had been. Languidly he
turned his head as the door swung back on its hinges, but when he
beheld the king he rose up, and rubbed his head against him.

'Oh, my poor horse! How much cleverer were you than I! If I had acted
like you I should never have lost Zoulvisia; but we will seek her
together, you and I.'

       *       *       *       *       *

For a long while the king and his horse followed the course of the
stream, but nowhere could he learn anything of Zoulvisia. At length,
one evening, they both stopped to rest by a cottage not far from a
great city, and as the king was lying outstretched on the grass,
lazily watching his horse cropping the short turf, an old woman came
out with a wooden bowl of fresh milk, which she offered him.

He drank it eagerly, for he was very thirsty, and then laying down the
bowl, began to talk to the woman, who was delighted to have someone to
listen to her conversation.

'You are in luck to have passed this way just now,' said she, 'for in
five days the king holds his wedding banquet. Ah! but the bride is
unwilling, for all her blue eyes and her golden hair! And she keeps by
her side a cup of poison, and declares that she will swallow it
rather than become his wife. Yet he is a handsome man too, and a
proper husband for her--more than she could have looked for, having
come no one knows whither, and bought from a witch----'

The king started. Had he found her after all? His heart beat
violently, as if it would choke him; but he gasped out:

'Is her name Zoulvisia?'

'Ay, so she says, though the old witch---- But what ails you?' she
broke off, as the young man sprang to his feet and seized her wrists.

'Listen to me,' he said. 'Can you keep a secret?'

'Ay,' answered the old woman again, 'if I am paid for it.'

'Oh, you shall be paid, never fear--as much as your heart can desire!
Here is a handful of gold: you shall have as much again if you will do
my bidding.' The old crone nodded her head.

'Then go and buy a dress such as ladies wear at court, and manage to
get admitted into the palace, and into the presence of Zoulvisia. When
there, show her this ring, and after that she will tell you what to
do.'

So the old woman set off, and clothed herself in a garment of yellow
silk, and wrapped a veil closely round her head. In this dress she
walked boldly up the palace steps behind some merchants whom the king
had sent for to bring presents for Zoulvisia.

At first the bride would have nothing to say to any of them; but on
perceiving the ring, she suddenly grew as meek as a lamb. And thanking
the merchants for their trouble, she sent them away, and remained
alone with her visitor.

'Grandmother,' asked Zoulvisia, as soon as the door was safely shut,
'where is the owner of this ring?'

'In my cottage,' answered the old woman, 'waiting for orders from
you.'

'Tell him to remain there for three days; and now go to the king of
this country, and say that you have succeeded in bringing me to
reason. Then he will let me alone and will cease to watch me. On the
third day from this I shall be wandering about the garden near the
river, and there your guest will find me. The rest concerns myself
only.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The morning of the third day dawned, and with the first rays of the
sun a bustle began in the palace; for that evening the king was to
marry Zoulvisia. Tents were being erected of fine scarlet cloth,
decked with wreaths of sweet-smelling white flowers, and in them the
banquet was spread. When all was ready a procession was formed to
fetch the bride, who had been wandering in the palace gardens since
daylight, and crowds lined the way to see her pass. A glimpse of her
dress of golden gauze might be caught, as she passed from one flowery
thicket to another; then suddenly the multitude swayed, and shrank
back, as a thunderbolt seemed to flash out of the sky to the place
where Zoulvisia was standing. Ah! but it was no thunderbolt, only the
horse of fire! And when the people looked again, it was bounding away
with two persons on its back.

       *       *       *       *       *

Zoulvisia and her husband both learnt how to keep happiness when they
had got it; and _that_ is a lesson that many men and woman never learn
at all. And besides, it is a lesson which nobody can teach, and that
every boy and girl must learn for themselves.

(From _Contes Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler.)




_GRASP ALL, LOSE ALL_


Once, in former times, there lived in a certain city in India a poor
oil-seller, called Déna, who never could keep any money in his
pockets; and when this story begins he had borrowed from a banker, of
the name of Léna, the sum of one hundred rupees; which, with the
interest Léna always charged, amounted to a debt of three hundred
rupees. Now Déna was doing a very bad business, and had no money with
which to pay his debt, so Léna was very angry, and used to come round
to Déna's house every evening and abuse him until the poor man was
nearly worried out of his life. Léna generally fixed his visit just
when Déna's wife was cooking the evening meal, and would make such a
scene that the poor oil-seller and his wife and daughter quite lost
their appetites, and could eat nothing. This went on for some weeks,
till, one day, Déna said to himself that he could stand it no longer,
and that he had better run away; and, as a man cannot fly easily with
a wife and daughter, he thought he must leave them behind. So that
evening, instead of turning into his house as usual after his day's
work, he just slipped out of the city without knowing very well where
he was going.

At about ten o'clock that night Déna came to a well by the wayside,
near which grew a giant peepul tree; and, as he was very tired, he
determined to climb it, and rest for a little before continuing his
journey in the morning. Up he went and curled himself so comfortably
amongst the great branches that, overcome with weariness, he fell
fast asleep. Whilst he slept, some spirits, who roam about such places
on certain nights, picked up the tree and flew away with it to a
far-away shore where no creature lived, and there, long before the sun
rose, they set it down. Just then the oil-seller awoke; but instead of
finding himself in the midst of a forest, he was amazed to behold
nothing but waste shore and wide sea, and was dumb with horror and
astonishment. Whilst he sat up, trying to collect his senses, he began
to catch sight here and there of twinkling, flashing lights, like
little fires, that moved and sparkled all about, and wondered what
they were. Presently he saw one so close to him that he reached out
his hand and grasped it, and found that it was a sparkling red stone,
scarcely smaller than a walnut. He opened a corner of his loin-cloth
and tied the stone in it; and by-and-by he got another, and then a
third, and a fourth, all of which he tied up carefully in his cloth.
At last, just as the day was breaking, the tree rose, and, flying
rapidly through the air, was deposited once more by the well where it
had stood the previous evening.

When Déna had recovered a little from the fright which the
extraordinary antics of the tree had caused him, he began to thank
Providence that he was alive, and, as his love of wandering had been
quite cured, he made his way back to the city and to his own house.
Here he was met and soundly scolded by his wife, who assailed him with
a hundred questions and reproaches. As soon as she paused for breath,
Déna replied:

'I have only this one thing to say, just look what I have got!' And,
after carefully shutting all the doors, he opened the corner of his
loin-cloth and showed her the four stones, which glittered and flashed
as he turned them over and over.

'Pooh!' said his wife, 'the silly pebbles! If it was something to eat,
now, there'd be some sense in them; but what's the good of _such_
things?' And she turned away with a sniff, for it had happened that
the night before, when Léna had come round as usual to storm at Déna,
he had been rather disturbed to find that his victim was from home,
and had frightened the poor woman by his threats. Directly, however,
he heard that Déna had come back, Léna appeared in the doorway. For
some minutes he talked to the oil-seller at the top of his voice,
until he was tired, then Déna said:

'If your honour would deign to walk into my humble dwelling, I will
speak.'

So Léna walked in, and the other, shutting as before all the doors,
untied the corner of his loin-cloth and showed him the four great
flashing stones.

'This is all,' said he, 'that I have in the world to set against my
debt, for, as your honour knows, I haven't a penny, but the stones are
pretty!'

Now Léna looked and saw at once that these were magnificent rubies,
and his mouth watered for them; but as it would never do to show what
was in his mind, he went on:

'What do I care about your stupid stones? It is my money I want, my
lawful debt which you owe me, and I shall get it out of you yet
somehow or another, or it will be the worst for you.'

To all his reproaches Déna could answer nothing, but sat with his
hands joined together beseechingly, asking for patience and pity. At
length Léna pretended that, rather than have a bad debt on his hand,
he would be at the loss of taking the stones in lieu of his money;
and, whilst Déna nearly wept with gratitude, he wrote out a receipt
for the three hundred rupees; and, wrapping the four stones in a
cloth, he put them into his bosom, and went off to his house.

'How shall I turn these rubies into money?' thought Léna, as he walked
along; 'I daren't keep them, for they are of great value, and if the
rajah heard that I had them he would probably put me into prison on
some pretence and seize the stones and all else that I have as well.
But what a bargain I have got! Four rubies worth a king's ransom, for
one hundred rupees! Well, well, I must take heed not to betray my
secret.' And he went on making plans. Presently he made up his mind
what to do, and, putting on his cleanest clothes, he set off to the
house of the chief wazir, whose name was Musli, and, after seeking a
private audience, he brought out the four rubies and laid them before
him.

The wazir's eyes sparkled as he beheld the splendid gems.

'Fine, indeed,' murmured he. 'I can't buy them at their real value;
but, if you like to take it, I will give you ten thousand rupees for
the four.'

To this the banker consented gratefully; and handing over the stones
in exchange for the rupees, he hurried home, thanking his stars that
he had driven such a reasonable bargain and obtained such an enormous
profit.

After Léna had departed the wazir began casting about in his mind what
to do with the gems; and very soon determined that the best thing to
do was to present them to the rajah, whose name was Kahré. Without
losing a moment, he went that very day to the palace, and sought a
private interview with the rajah; and when he found himself alone with
his royal master, he brought the four jewels and laid them before him.

'Oh, ho!' said the rajah, 'these are priceless gems, and you have done
well to give them to me. In return I give you and your heirs the
revenues of ten villages.'

Now the wazir was overjoyed at these words, but only made his deepest
obeisance; and, whilst the king put the rubies into his turban,
hurried away beaming with happiness at the thought that for ten
thousand rupees he had become lord of ten villages. The rajah was also
equally pleased, and strolled off with his new purchases to the
women's quarters and showed them to the queen, who was nearly out of
her mind with delight. Then, as she turned them over and over in her
hands, she said: 'Ah! if I had eight more such gems, what a necklace
they would make! Get me eight more of them or I shall die!'

'Most unreasonable of women,' cried the rajah, 'where am I to get
eight more such jewels as these? I gave ten villages for them, and yet
you are not satisfied!'

'What does it matter?' said the rani; 'do you want me to die? Surely
you can get some more where these came from?' And then she fell to
weeping and wailing until the rajah promised that in the morning he
would make arrangements to get some more such rubies, and that if she
would be patient she should have her desire.

In the morning the rajah sent for the wazir, and said that he must
manage to get eight more rubies like those he had brought him the day
before, 'and if you don't I shall hang you,' cried the rajah, for he
was very cross. The poor wazir protested in vain that he knew not
where to seek them; his master would not listen to a word he said.

'You _must_,' said he; 'the rani shall not die for the want of a few
rubies! Get more where those came from.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The wazir left the palace, much troubled in mind, and bade his slaves
bring Léna before him. 'Get me eight more such rubies as those you
brought yesterday,' commanded the wazir, directly the banker was shown
into his presence. 'Eight more, and be quick, or I am a dead man.'

'But how can I?' wailed Léna; 'rubies like those don't grow upon
bushes!'

'Where did you get them from?' asked the wazir.

'From Déna, the oil-seller,' said the banker.

'Well, send for him and ask him where _he_ got them,' answered the
wazir. 'I am not going to hang for twenty Dénas!' And more slaves were
sent to summon Déna.

When Déna arrived he was closely questioned, and then all three
started to see the rajah, and to him Déna told the whole story.

'What night was it that you slept in the peepul tree?' demanded the
rajah.

'I can't remember,' said Déna; 'but my wife will know.'

Then Déna's wife was sent for, and she explained that it was on the
last Sunday of the new moon.

Now everyone knows that it is on the Sunday of the new moon that
spirits have special power to play pranks upon mortals. So the rajah
forbade them all, on pain of death, to say a word to anyone; and
declared that, on the next Sunday of the new moon, they four--Kahré,
Musli, Léna and Déna--would go and sit in the peepul tree and see what
happened.

The days dragged on to the appointed Sunday, and that evening the four
met secretly, and entered the forest. They had not far to go before
they reached the peepul tree, into which they climbed as the rajah had
planned. At midnight the tree began to sway, and presently it moved
through the air.

'See, sire,' whispered Déna, 'the tree is flying!'

'Yes, yes,' said the rajah, 'you have told the truth. Now sit quiet,
and we shall see what happens.'

Away and away flew the tree with the four men clinging tightly to its
branches, until at last it was set down by the waste sea-shore where a
great wide sea came tumbling in on a desert beach. Presently, as
before, they began to see little points of light that glistened like
fires all around them. Then Déna thought to himself:

'Think! last time I only took four that came close to me, and I got
rid of all my debt in return. This time I will take all I can get and
be rich!'

'If I got ten thousand rupees for four stones,' thought Léna, 'I will
gather forty now for myself, and become so wealthy that they will
probably make me a wazir at least!'

'For four stones I received ten villages,' Musli was silently
thinking; 'now I will get stones enough to purchase a kingdom, become
a rajah, and employ wazirs of my own!'

  [Illustration: SUDDENLY THE TREE ROSE UP AGAIN AND FLEW AWAY]

And Kahré thought: 'What is the good of only getting eight stones?
Why, here are enough to make twenty necklaces; and wealth means
power!'

Full of avarice and desire, each scrambled down from the tree, spread
his cloth, and darted hither and thither picking up the precious
jewels, looking the while over his shoulder to see whether his
neighbour fared better than he. So engrossed were they in the business
of gathering wealth that the dawn came upon them unawares; and
suddenly the tree rose up again and flew away, leaving them upon the
sea-shore staring after it, each with his cloth heavy with priceless
jewels.

       *       *       *       *       *

Morning broke in the city, and great was the consternation in the
palace when the chamberlains declared that the rajah had gone out the
evening before and had not returned.

'Ah!' said one, 'it is all right! Musli wazir will know where he is,
for it was he who was the king's companion.'

Then they went to the wazir's house, and there they learnt that the
wazir had left it the evening before and had not returned; 'but,' said
a servant, 'Léna the banker will know where he is, for it was with him
that Musli went.'

Then they visited the house of Léna, and there they learnt that the
banker had gone out the evening before, and that he too had not
returned; but the porter told them that he was accompanied by Déna the
oil-seller, so he would know where they were.

So they departed to Déna's house, and Déna's wife met them with a
torrent of reproaches and wailings, for Déna too had gone off the
evening before to Léna's house and had not returned.

In vain they waited, and searched--never did any of the hapless four
return to their homes; and the confused tale which was told by Déna's
wife was the only clue to their fate.

To this day, in that country, when a greedy man has overreached
himself, and lost all in grasping at too much, folks say:

'All has he lost!--neither Déna, nor Léna, nor Musli, nor Kahré
remain.' And not five men in a hundred know how the proverb began, nor
what it really signifies.

(Major Campbell, Feroshepore.)




_THE FATE OF THE TURTLE_


In a very hot country, far away to the east, was a beautiful little
lake where two wild ducks made their home, and passed their days
swimming and playing in its clear waters. They had it all to
themselves, except for a turtle, who was many years older than they
were, and had come there before them, and, luckily, instead of taking
a dislike to the turtle, as so often happens when you have only one
person to speak to, they became great friends, and spent most of the
day in each other's company.

All went on smoothly and happily till one summer, when the rains
failed and the sun shone so fiercely that every morning there was a
little less water in the lake and a little more mud on the bank. The
water-lilies around the edge began to droop, and the palms to hang
their heads, and the ducks' favourite swimming place, where they could
dive the deepest, to grow shallower and shallower. At length there
came a morning when the ducks looked at each other uneasily, and
before nightfall they had whispered that if at the end of two days
rain had not come, they must fly away and seek a new home, for if they
stayed in their old one, which they loved so much, they would
certainly die of thirst.

Earnestly they watched the sky for many hours before they tucked their
heads under their wings and fell asleep from sheer weariness, but not
the tiniest cloud was to be seen covering the stars that shone so big
and brilliant, and hung so low in the heavens that you felt as if you
could touch them. So, when the morning broke, they made up their
minds that they must go and tell the turtle of their plans, and bid
him farewell.

They found him comfortably curled up on a pile of dead rushes, more
than half asleep, for he was old, and could not venture out in the
heat as he once used.

'Ah! here you are,' he cried; 'I began to wonder if I was ever going
to see you again, for, somehow, though the lake has grown smaller, I
seem to have grown weaker, and it is lonely spending all day and night
by oneself!'

'Oh! my friend,' answered the elder of the two ducks, 'if you have
suffered we have suffered also. Besides, I have something to tell you,
that I fear will cause you greater pain still. If we do not wish to
die of thirst we must leave this place at once, and seek another where
the sun's rays do not come. My heart bleeds to say this, for there is
nothing--nothing else in the world--which would have induced us to
separate from you.'

The turtle was so astonished as well as so distressed at the duck's
speech that for a moment he could find no words to reply. But when he
had forced back his tears, he said in a shaky voice:

'How can you think that I am able to live without you, when for so
long you have been my only friends? If you leave me, death will
speedily put an end to my grief.'

'_Our_ sorrow is as great as yours,' answered the other duck, 'but
what can we do? And remember that if we are not here to drink the
water, there will be the more for you! If it had not been for this
terrible misfortune, be sure that nothing would have parted us from
one whom we love so dearly.'

'My friends,' replied the turtle, 'water is as necessary to me as to
you, and if death stares in your faces, it stares in mine also. But in
the name of all the years we have passed together, do not, I beseech
you, leave me to perish here alone! Wherever you may go take me with
you!'

There was a pause. The ducks felt wretched at the thought of
abandoning their old comrade, yet, at the same time, how could they
grant his prayer? It seemed quite impossible, and at length one of
them spoke:

'Oh, how can I find words to refuse?' cried he, 'yet how can we do
what you ask? Consider that, like yours, our bodies are heavy and our
feet small. Therefore, how could we walk with you over mountains and
deserts, till we reached a land where the sun's rays no longer burn?
Why, before the day was out we should all three be dead of fatigue and
hunger! No, our only hope lies in our wings--and, alas! you cannot
fly!'

'No, I cannot fly, of course,' answered the turtle, with a sigh. 'But
you are so clever, and have seen so much of the world--surely you can
think of some plan?' And he fixed his eyes eagerly on them. Now, when
the ducks saw how ardently the turtle wished to accompany them their
hearts were touched, and making a sign to their friend that they
wished to be alone they swam out into the lake to consult together.
Though he could not hear what they said, the turtle could watch, and
the half-hour that their talk lasted felt to him like a hundred years.
At length he beheld them returning side by side, and so great was his
anxiety to know his fate he almost died from excitement before they
reached him.

'We hope we have found a plan that may do for you,' said the big duck
gravely, 'but we must warn you that it is not without great danger,
especially if you are not careful to follow our directions.'

'How is it possible that I should not follow your directions when my
life and happiness are at stake?' asked the turtle joyfully. 'Tell me
what they are, and I will promise to obey them gratefully.'

'Well, then,' answered the duck, 'whilst we are carrying you through
the air, in the manner that we have fixed upon, you must remain as
quiet as if you were dead. However high above the earth you may find
yourself, you must not feel afraid, nor move your feet nor open your
mouth. No matter what you see or hear, it is absolutely needful for
you to be perfectly still, or I cannot answer for the consequences.'

'I will be absolutely obedient,' answered the turtle, 'not only on
this occasion but during all my life; and once more I promise
faithfully not to move head or foot, to fear nothing, and never to
speak a word during the whole journey.'

This being settled, the ducks swam about till they found, floating in
the lake, a good stout stick. This they tied to their necks with some
of the tough water-lily roots, and returned as quickly as they could
to the turtle.

'Now,' said the elder duck, pushing the stick gently towards his
friend, 'take this stick firmly in your mouth, and do not let it go
till we have set you down on earth again.'

The turtle did as he was told, and the ducks in their turn seized the
stick by the two ends, spread their wings and mounted swiftly into the
air, the turtle hanging between them.

For a while all went well. They swept across valleys, over great
mountains, above ruined cities, but no lake was to be seen anywhere.
Still, the turtle had faith in his friends, and bravely hung on to the
stick.

At length they saw in the distance a small village, and very soon they
were passing over the roofs of the houses. The people were so
astonished at the strange sight, that they all--men, women and
children--ran out to see it, and cried to each other:

'Look! look! behold a miracle! Two ducks supporting a turtle! Was ever
such a thing known before!' Indeed, so great was the surprise that men
left their ploughing and women their weaving in order to add their
voices to their friends'.

The ducks flew steadily on, heeding nothing of the commotion below;
but not so the turtle. At first he kept silence, as he had been bidden
to do, but at length the clamour below proved too much for him, and he
began to think that everyone was envying him the power of travelling
through the air. In an evil moment he forgot the promises he had made
so solemnly, and opened his mouth to reply, but, before he could utter
a word, he was rushing so swiftly through the air that he quickly
became unconscious, and in this state was dashed to pieces against the
side of a house. Then the ducks let fall after him the stick that had
held up their friend, and which was of no further use. Sadly they
looked at each other and shook their heads.

'We feared it would end so,' said they, 'yet, perhaps, he was right
after all. Certainly this death was better than the one which awaited
him.'

(From _Les Contes et Fables Indiennes_. Par M. Galland, 1724.)




_THE SNAKE PRINCE_


Once upon a time there lived by herself, in a city, an old woman who
was desperately poor. One day she found that she had only a handful of
flour left in the house, and no money to buy more nor hope of earning
it. Carrying her little brass pot, very sadly she made her way down to
the river to bathe and to obtain some water, thinking afterwards to
come home and to make herself an unleavened cake of what flour she had
left; and after that she did not know what was to become of her.

Whilst she was bathing she left her little brass pot on the river bank
covered with a cloth, to keep the inside nice and clean; but when she
came up out of the river and took the cloth off to fill the pot with
water, she saw inside it the glittering folds of a deadly snake. At
once she popped the cloth again into the mouth of the pot and held it
there; and then she said to herself:

'Ah, kind death! I will take thee home to my house, and there I will
shake thee out of my pot and thou shalt bite me and I will die, and
then all my troubles will be ended.'

With these sad thoughts in her mind the poor old woman hurried home,
holding her cloth carefully in the mouth of the pot; and when she got
home she shut all the doors and windows, and took away the cloth, and
turned the pot upside down upon her hearthstone. What was her surprise
to find that, instead of the deadly snake which she expected to see
fall out of it, there fell out with a rattle and a clang a most
magnificent necklace of flashing jewels!

For a few minutes she could hardly think or speak, but stood staring;
and then with trembling hands she picked the necklace up, and folding
it in the corner of her veil, she hurried off to the king's hall of
public audience.

'A petition, O king!' she said. 'A petition for thy private ear
alone!' And when her prayer had been granted, and she found herself
alone with the king, she shook out her veil at his feet, and there
fell from it in glittering coils the splendid necklace. As soon as the
king saw it he was filled with amazement and delight, and the more he
looked at it the more he felt that he must possess it at once. So he
gave the old woman five hundred silver pieces for it, and put it
straightway into his pocket. Away she went full of happiness; for the
money that the king had given her was enough to keep her for the rest
of her life.

As soon as he could leave his business the king hurried off and showed
his wife his prize, with which she was as pleased as he, if not more
so; and, as soon as they had finished admiring the wonderful necklace,
they locked it up in the great chest where the queen's jewellery was
kept, the key of which hung always round the king's neck.

A short while afterwards, a neighbouring king sent a message to say
that a most lovely girl baby had been born to him; and he invited his
neighbours to come to a great feast in honour of the occasion. The
queen told her husband that of course they must be present at the
banquet, and she would wear the new necklace which he had given her.
They had only a short time to prepare for the journey, and at the last
moment the king went to the jewel chest to take out the necklace for
his wife to wear, but he could see no necklace at all, only, in its
place, a fat little boy baby crowing and shouting. The king was so
astonished that he nearly fell backwards, but presently he found his
voice, and called for his wife so loudly that she came running,
thinking that the necklace must at least have been stolen.

'Look here! look!' cried the king, 'haven't we always longed for a
son? And now heaven has sent us one!'

'What do you mean?' cried the queen. 'Are you mad?'

'Mad? no, I hope not,' shouted the king, dancing in excitement round
the open chest. 'Come here, and look! Look what we've got instead of
that necklace!'

Just then the baby let out a great crow of joy, as though he would
like to jump up and dance with the king; and the queen gave a cry of
surprise, and ran up and looked into the chest.

'Oh!' she gasped, as she looked at the baby, 'what a darling! Where
could he have come from?'

'I'm sure I can't say,' said the king; 'all I know is that we locked
up a necklace in the chest, and when I unlocked it just now there was
no necklace, but a baby, and as fine a baby as ever was seen.'

By this time the queen had the baby in her arms. 'Oh, the blessed
one!' she cried, 'fairer ornament for the bosom of a queen than any
necklace that ever was wrought. Write,' she continued, 'write to our
neighbour and say that we cannot come to his feast, for we have a
feast of our own, and a baby of our own! Oh, happy day!'

So the visit was given up; and, in honour of the new baby, the bells
of the city, and its guns, and its trumpets, and its people, small and
great, had hardly any rest for a week; there was such a ringing, and
banging, and blaring, and such fireworks, and feasting, and rejoicing,
and merry-making, as had never been seen before.

A few years went by; and, as the king's boy baby and his neighbour's
girl baby grew and throve, the two kings arranged that as soon as they
were old enough they should marry; and so, with much signing of
papers and agreements, and wagging of wise heads, and stroking of
grey beards, the compact was made, and signed, and sealed, and lay
waiting for its fulfilment. And this too came to pass; for, as soon as
the prince and princess were eighteen years of age, the kings agreed
that it was time for the wedding; and the young prince journeyed away
to the neighbouring kingdom for his bride, and was there married to
her with great and renewed rejoicings.

Now, I must tell you that the old woman who had sold the king the
necklace had been called in by him to be the nurse of the young
prince; and although she loved her charge dearly, and was a most
faithful servant, she could not help talking just a little, and so,
by-and-by, it began to be rumoured that there was some magic about the
young prince's birth; and the rumour of course had come in due time to
the ears of the parents of the princess. So now that she was going to
be the wife of the prince, her mother (who was curious, as many other
people are) said to her daughter on the eve of the ceremony:

'Remember that the first thing you must do is to find out what this
story is about the prince. And in order to do it, you must not speak a
word to him whatever he says until he asks you why you are silent;
then you must ask him what the truth is about his magic birth; and
until he tells you, you must not speak to him again.'

And the princess promised that she would follow her mother's advice.

Therefore when they were married, and the prince spoke to his bride,
she did not answer him. He could not think what was the matter, but
even about her old home she would not utter a word. At last he asked
why she would not speak; and then she said:

'Tell me the secret of your birth.'

Then the prince was very sad and displeased, and although she pressed
him sorely he would not tell her, but always reply:

'If I tell you, you will repent that ever you asked me.'

For several months they lived together; and it was not such a happy
time for either as it ought to have been, for the secret was still a
secret, and lay between them like a cloud between the sun and the
earth, making what should be fair, dull and sad.

  [Illustration: THE SNAKE PRINCE VISITS HIS WIFE]

At length the prince could bear it no longer; so he said to his wife
one day: 'At midnight I will tell you my secret if you still wish it;
but you will repent it all your life.' However, the princess was
overjoyed that she had succeeded, and paid no attention to his
warnings.

That night the prince ordered horses to be ready for the princess and
himself a little before midnight. He placed her on one, and mounted
the other himself, and they rode together down to the river to the
place where the old woman had first found the snake in her brass pot.
There the prince drew rein and said sadly: 'Do you still insist that I
should tell you my secret?' And the princess answered 'Yes.' 'If I
do,' answered the prince, 'remember that you will regret it all your
life.' But the princess only replied 'Tell me!'

'Then,' said the prince, 'know that I am the son of the king of a far
country, but by enchantment I was turned into a snake.'

The word 'snake' was hardly out of his lips when he disappeared, and
the princess heard a rustle and saw a ripple on the water; and in the
faint moonlight she beheld a snake swimming into the river. Soon it
disappeared and she was left alone. In vain she waited with beating
heart for something to happen, and for the prince to come back to her.
Nothing happened and no one came; only the wind mourned through the
trees on the river bank, and the night birds cried, and a jackal
howled in the distance, and the river flowed black and silent beneath
her.

In the morning they found her, weeping and dishevelled, on the river
bank; but no word could they learn from her or from anyone as to the
fate of her husband. At her wish they built on the river bank a little
house of black stone; and there she lived in mourning, with a few
servants and guards to watch over her.

A long, long time passed by, and still the princess lived in mourning
for her prince, and saw no one, and went nowhere away from her house
on the river bank and the garden that surrounded it. One morning, when
she woke up, she found a stain of fresh mud upon the carpet. She sent
for the guards, who watched outside the house day and night, and asked
them who had entered her room while she was asleep. They declared that
no one _could_ have entered, for they kept such careful watch that not
even a bird could fly in without their knowledge; but none of them
could explain the stain of mud. The next morning, again, the princess
found another stain of wet mud, and she questioned everyone most
carefully; but none could say how the mud came there. The third night
the princess determined to lie awake herself and watch; and, for fear
that she might fall asleep, she cut her finger with a penknife and
rubbed salt into the cut, that the pain of it might keep her from
sleeping. So she lay awake, and at midnight she saw a snake come
wriggling along the ground with some mud from the river in its mouth;
and when it came near the bed, it reared up its head and dropped its
muddy head on the bedclothes. She was very frightened, but tried to
control her fear, and called out:

'Who are you, and what do you here?'

And the snake answered:

'I am the prince, your husband, and I am come to visit you.'

Then the princess began to weep; and the snake continued:

'Alas! did I not say that if I told you my secret you would repent it?
and have you not repented?'

'Oh, indeed!' cried the poor princess, 'I have repented it, and shall
repent it all my life! Is there nothing I can do?'

And the snake answered:

'Yes, there is one thing, if you dared to do it.'

'Only tell me,' said the princess, 'and I will do _anything_!'

'Then,' replied the snake, 'on a certain night you must put a large
bowl of milk and sugar in each of the four corners of this room. All
the snakes in the river will come out to drink the milk, and the one
that leads the way will be the queen of the snakes. You must stand in
her way at the door, and say: "Oh, Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes,
give me back my husband!" and perhaps she will do it. But if you are
frightened, and do not stop her, you will never see me again.' And he
glided away.

On the night of which the snake had told her, the princess got four
large bowls of milk and sugar, and put one in each corner of the room,
and stood in the doorway waiting. At midnight there was a great
hissing and rustling from the direction of the river, and presently
the ground appeared to be alive with horrible writhing forms of
snakes, whose eyes glittered and forked tongues quivered as they moved
on in the direction of the princess's house. Foremost among them was a
huge, repulsive scaly creature that led the dreadful procession. The
guards were so terrified that they all ran away; but the princess
stood in the doorway, as white as death, and with her hands clasped
tight together for fear she should scream or faint, and fail to do her
part. As they came closer and saw her in the way, all the snakes
raised their horrid heads and swayed them to and fro, and looked at
her with wicked beady eyes, while their breath seemed to poison the
very air. Still the princess stood firm, and, when the leading snake
was within a few feet of her, she cried: 'Oh, Queen of Snakes, Queen
of Snakes, give me back my husband!' Then all the rustling, writhing
crowd of snakes seemed to whisper to one another 'Her husband? her
husband?' But the queen of snakes moved on until her head was almost
in the princess's face, and her little eyes seemed to flash fire. And
still the princess stood in the doorway and never moved, but cried
again: 'Oh, Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my
husband!' Then the queen of snakes replied: 'To-morrow you shall have
him--to-morrow!' When she heard these words and knew that she had
conquered, the princess staggered from the door, and sank upon her bed
and fainted. As in a dream, she saw that her room was full of snakes,
all jostling and squabbling over the bowls of milk until it was
finished. And then they went away.

  [Illustration: 'QUEEN OF SNAKES, GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND']

In the morning the princess was up early, and took off the mourning
dress which she had worn for five whole years, and put on gay and
beautiful clothes. And she swept the house and cleaned it, and adorned
it with garlands and nosegays of sweet flowers and ferns, and prepared
it as though she were making ready for her wedding. And when night
fell she lit up the woods and gardens with lanterns, and spread a
table as for a feast, and lit in the house a thousand wax candles.
Then she waited for her husband, not knowing in what shape he would
appear. And at midnight there came striding from the river the prince,
laughing, but with tears in his eyes; and she ran to meet him, and
threw herself into his arms, crying and laughing too.

So the prince came home; and the next day they two went back to the
palace, and the old king wept with joy to see them. And the bells, so
long silent, were set a-ringing again, and the guns firing, and the
trumpets blaring, and there was fresh feasting and rejoicing.

And the old woman who had been the prince's nurse became nurse to the
prince's children--at least she was called so; though she was far too
old to do anything for them but love them. Yet she still thought that
she was useful, and knew that she was happy. And happy, indeed, were
the prince and princess, who in due time became king and queen, and
lived and ruled long and prosperously.

(Major Campbell, Feroshepore.)




_THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS IN THE FOREST_


There were, once upon a time, a king and queen of Denmark who had an
only son, a handsome and clever lad. When he was eighteen, his father,
the old king, fell very ill, and there was no hope that he would ever
get well again. The queen and the prince were very unhappy, for they
loved him dearly; but though they did all they could, he only grew
worse and worse, and, one day, when the summer had come and the birds
were singing, he raised his head and, taking a long look out of the
window, fell back dead.

During many weeks the queen could hardly eat or sleep, so sorely did
she grieve for him, and the prince feared that she would die also if
she went on weeping; so he begged her to go with him to a beautiful
place that he knew of on the other side of the forest, and after some
time she consented. The prince was overjoyed, and arranged that they
should set off early next morning.

They travelled all day, only stopping now and then to rest, and
already the queen began to be better and to take a little interest in
the things she saw. Just as the evening was coming on they entered the
forest. Here it was quite dark, for the trees grew so close together
that the sun could not shine through them, and very soon they lost the
path, and wandered helplessly about wondering what they should do.

'If we sleep in this dreadful place,' said the queen, who was tired
and frightened, 'the wild beasts will eat us.' And she began to cry.

'Cheer up, mother,' answered her son, 'I have a feeling that luck is
coming to us.' And at the next turning they came to a little house, in
the window of which a light was burning.

'Didn't I tell you so?' cried the prince. 'Stay here a moment and I
will go and see if I can get food and shelter for the night.' And away
he ran as fast as he could go, for by this time they were very hungry,
as they had brought very little food with them and had eaten up every
scrap! When one takes a long journey on foot one does not like to have
too much to carry.

The prince entered the house and looked about him, going from one room
to the other, but seeing nobody and finding nothing to eat. At last,
as he was going sorrowfully away, he caught sight of a sword and shirt
of mail hanging on the wall in an inner room, with a piece of paper
fastened under them. On the paper was some writing, which said that
whoever wore the coat and carried the sword would be safe from all
danger.

The prince was so delighted at the sight that he forgot how hungry he
was, and instantly slipped on the coat of chain armour under his
tunic, and hid the sword under his cloak, for he did not mean to say
anything about what he had found. Then he went back to his mother, who
was waiting impatiently for him.

'What have you been doing all this time?' she asked angrily. 'I
thought you had been killed by robbers!'

'Oh, just looking round,' he answered; 'but though I searched
everywhere I could find nothing to eat.'

'I am very much afraid that it is a robbers' den,' said the queen. 'We
had better go on, hungry though we are.'

'No, it isn't; but still, we had better not stay here,' replied the
prince, 'especially as there is nothing to eat. Perhaps we shall find
another house.'

They went on for some time, until, sure enough, they came to another
house, which also had a light in the window.

'We'll go in here,' said the prince.

'No, no; I am afraid!' cried the queen. 'We shall be attacked and
killed! It is a robbers' den: I am sure it is!'

'Yes, it looks like it; but we can't help that,' said her son. 'We
have had nothing to eat for hours, and I'm nearly as tired as you.'

The poor queen was, indeed, quite worn out; she could hardly stand for
fatigue, and in spite of her terror was half anxious to be persuaded.

'And there's going to be a storm,' added the prince; who feared
nothing now that he had the sword.

So they went into the house, where they found nobody. In the first
room stood a table laid for a meal, with all sorts of good things to
eat and drink, though some of the dishes were empty.

'Well, this looks nice,' said the prince, sitting down and helping
himself to some delicious strawberries piled on a golden dish, and
some iced lemonade. Never had anything tasted so nice; but, all the
same, it _was_ a robbers' den they had come to, and the robbers, who
had only just dined, had gone out into the forest to see whom they
could rob.

When the queen and the prince could eat no more they remembered that
they were very tired, and the prince looked about till he discovered a
comfortable bed, with silken sheets, standing in the next room.

'You get into bed, mother,' he said, 'and I'll lie down by the side.
Don't be alarmed; you can sleep quite safely till the morning.' And he
lay down with his sword in his hand, and kept watch until the day
began to break; then the queen woke up and said she was quite rested
and ready to start again.

'First I'll go out into the forest and see if I can find our road,'
said the prince. 'And while I'm gone you light the fire and make some
coffee. We must eat a good breakfast before we start.'

  [Illustration: THE ROBBER-CHIEF CATCHES THE QUEEN]

And he ran off into the wood.

After he had gone the queen lit the fire, and then thought she would
like to see what was in the other rooms; so she went from one to
another, and presently came to one that was very prettily furnished,
with lovely pictures on the walls, and pale blue curtains and soft
yellow cushions and comfortable easy chairs. As she was looking at all
these things, suddenly a trap-door opened in the floor, and the
robber-chief came out of the hole and seized her ankles. The queen
almost died of fright, and shrieked loudly, then fell on her knees and
begged him to spare her life.

'Yes, if you will promise me two things,' he replied; 'first that you
will take me home to your country and let me be crowned king instead
of your son; and secondly, that you will kill him in case he should
try to take the throne from me--if you will not agree to this I shall
kill you.'

'Kill my own son!' gasped the queen, staring at him in horror.

'You need not do that exactly,' said the robber. 'When he returns,
just lie on the bed and say that you have been taken ill, and add that
you have dreamed that in a forest, a mile away, there are some
beautiful apples. If you could only get some of these you would be
well again, but if not you will die.'

The queen shuddered as she listened. She was fond of her son, but she
was a terrible coward; and so in the end she agreed, hoping that
something would occur to save the prince. She had hardly given her
promise when a step was heard, and the robber hastily hid himself.

'Well, mother,' cried the prince as he entered, 'I have been through
the forest and found the road, so we will start directly we have had
some breakfast.'

'Oh, I feel so ill!' said the queen. 'I could not walk a single step;
and there is only one thing that will cure me.'

'What is that?' asked the prince.

'I dreamed,' answered the queen, in a faint voice, 'that, a mile
away, there is a forest where the most beautiful apples grow, and if I
could have some of them I should soon be well again.'

'Oh! but dreams don't mean anything,' said the prince. 'There is a
magician who lives near here. I'll go to him and ask for a spell to
cure you.'

'My dreams always mean something,' said the queen, shaking her head.
'If I don't get any apples I shall die.' She did not know why the
robber wanted to send the prince to this particular forest, but as a
matter of fact it was full of wild animals who would tear to pieces
any traveller who entered it.

'Well, I'll go,' answered the prince. 'But I really must have some
breakfast first; I shall walk all the faster.'

'If you do not hurry you will find me dead when you come back,'
murmured the queen fretfully. She thought her son was not nearly
anxious enough about her, and by this time she had begun to believe
that she really was as ill as she had said.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the prince had eaten and drunk, he set off, and soon came to a
forest, and sure enough it was full of lions and tigers, and bears and
wolves, who came rushing towards him; but instead of springing on him
and tearing him to pieces, they lay down on the ground and licked his
hands. He speedily found the tree with the apples which his mother
wanted, but the branches were so high he could not reach them, and
there was no way of climbing up the smooth trunk.

'It is no use after all, I can't get up there,' he said to himself.
'What am I to do now?'

But, as he turned away, his sword chanced to touch the tree, and
immediately two apples fell down. He picked them up joyfully, and was
going away when a little dog came out of a hill close by, and running
up to him, began tugging at his clothes and whining.

'What do you want, little dog?' asked the prince, stooping down to
pat his soft black head.

The dog ran to a hole that was in the hill and sat there looking out,
as much as to say: 'Come along in with me.'

'I may as well go and see what is in there,' thought the prince, and
he went over to the hill. But the hole was so small that he could not
get through it, so he thrust his sword into it, and immediately it
became larger.

'Ha, ha!' he chuckled; 'it's worth something to have a sword like
that.' And he bent down and crept through the hole.

The first thing he beheld, when he entered a room at the very end of a
dark passage, was a beautiful princess, who was bound by an iron chain
to an iron pillar.

'What evil fate brought you here?' he asked in surprise: and the lady
answered:

'It isn't much use for me to tell you lest my lot becomes yours.'

'I am not afraid of that. Tell me who you are and what has brought you
here,' begged the prince.

'My story is not long,' she said, smiling sadly. 'I am a princess from
Arabia, and twelve robbers who dwell in this place are fighting among
themselves as to which shall have me to wife.'

'Shall I save you?' asked the prince. And she answered:

'Yes; but you can't do it. To begin with, how could you break the
chain I am bound with?'

'Oh, that's easy enough,' said he, taking out his sword; and directly
it touched the chain the links fell apart and the princess was free.

'Come!' said the prince, taking her hand. But she drew back.

'No, I dare not!' she cried. 'If we should meet the robbers in the
passage they would kill us both.'

  [Illustration: THE PRINCESS OF ARABIA RELEASED FROM THE IRON PILLAR]

'Not they!' said the prince, brandishing his sword. 'But how long
have you been here?' he added quickly.

'About twenty years, I think,' said the princess, reckoning with her
fingers.

'Twenty years!' exclaimed the prince. 'Then you had better shut your
eyes, for when you have been sitting there so long it might hurt you
to go too suddenly into the daylight. So you are the Princess of
Arabia, whose beauty is famous throughout all the world! I, too, am a
prince.'

'Will you not come back to Arabia and marry me, now you have saved my
life?' asked the princess. 'Even if my father is living still, he must
be old, and after his death you can be king.'

'No,' replied the prince, 'I cannot do that--I must live and die in my
own country. But at the end of a year I will follow you and marry
you.' And that was all he would say.

Then the princess took a heavy ring from her finger and put it on his.
Her father's and her mother's names were engraved in it, as well as
her own, and she asked him to keep it as a reminder of his promise.

'I will die before I part from it,' said the prince. 'And if at the
end of a year I am still living, I will come. I believe I have heard
that at the other side of this forest there is a port from which ships
sail to Arabia. Let us hasten there at once.'

Hand in hand they set off through the forest, and when they came to
the port they found a ship just ready to sail. The princess said
good-bye to the prince, and went on board the vessel, and when she
reached her own country there were great rejoicings, for her parents
had never expected to see her again. She told them how a prince had
saved her from the robbers, and was coming in a year's time to marry
her, and they were greatly pleased.

'All the same,' said the king, 'I wish he were here now. A year is a
long time.'

When the princess was no longer before his eyes, the prince
recollected why he had entered the forest, and made all the haste he
could back to the robbers' home.

The robber-chief could smell the apples from afar, for he had a nose
like an ogre, and he said to the queen:

'That is a strange fellow! If he had gone into the forest the wild
beasts must have eaten him unless he has a powerful charm to protect
him. If that is so we must get it away from him.'

'No, he has nothing,' answered the queen, who was quite fascinated by
the robber.

But the robber did not believe her.

'We must think of a way to get it,' he said. 'When he comes in say you
are well again, and have some food ready for him. Then, whilst he is
eating, tell him you dreamed that he was attacked by wild beasts, and
ask him how he managed to escape from them. After he has told you I
can easily find a way to take his charm from him.'

Shortly after the prince came in.

'How are you, mother!' he said gaily. 'Here are your apples. Now you
will soon be well again, and ready to come away with me.'

'Oh, I am better already,' she said. 'And see, your dinner is all hot
for you, eat it up, and then we will start.'

Whilst he was eating she said to him: 'I had a horrible dream while
you were away. I saw you in a forest full of wild animals, and they
were running round you and growling fiercely. How did you manage to
escape from them?'

'Oh, it was only a dream!' laughed the prince.

'But _my_ dreams are always true,' said his mother. 'Tell me how it
was.'

The prince wondered for some time whether he should tell her or not,
but at last he decided to let her into the secret.

'One should tell one's mother everything,' he thought. And he told
her.

'See, mother, here are a sword and a mail shirt which I found in the
first house we entered in the forest, and as long as I carry them
nothing can hurt me. That is what saved me from the wild beasts.'

'How can I be thankful enough!' exclaimed the queen. And directly the
prince's back was turned, she hurried to tell the robber.

       *       *       *       *       *

The robber, as soon as he heard the news, made a sleeping-draught, and
bade the queen give it to her son before he went to bed that night.

Accordingly, as soon as the prince began to get sleepy, the queen
handed him the cup containing the draught.

'Drink this, to please me,' she said. 'It will do you good after all
you've gone through, and make you sleep well.'

'What an odd taste it has!' murmured the prince as he drank it.

Immediately he fell asleep; and the robber came in and took away his
sword and shirt of mail.

'These things belong to my brother,' he said. After he had got them
both in his hand the robber woke him.

'I am the master now,' said he. 'Choose one of two things--either you
must die, or your eyes will be put out, and you will be sent back to
the forest.'

The prince's blood grew cold at these words. Then a thought struck
him, and he turned to his mother: 'Is this _your_ doing?' he asked
sternly. And though she burst into tears and denied it, the prince
knew she was not telling the truth.

'Well,' said he, '"whilst there is life there is hope." I will go back
to the forest.'

Then the robber put out his eyes, gave him a stick, and some food and
drink, and drove him into the forest, hoping that the wild beasts
would kill him, as he no longer had the sword and shirt to protect
him.

'Now,' he said to the queen, 'we will return to your country.'

The next day they set sail, and as soon as they reached home, they
were married, and the robber became king.

Meanwhile the poor prince was wandering about in the forest, hoping to
find someone who would help him, and perhaps take him into service,
for now he had no money and no home. It so happened that there had
been a great hunt in the forest, and the wild beasts had all fled
before the hunters and were hiding, so nothing did him any harm. At
last one day, just when his food was all gone and he had made up his
mind that he must surely die of hunger, he came to the port whence the
ships sailed for Arabia. One vessel was just ready to start, and the
captain was going on board when he saw the prince.

'Why, here is a poor blind fellow!' he said. 'No doubt that is the
work of the robbers. Let us take him to Arabia with us. Would you like
to come, my good man?' he asked the prince.

Oh, how glad he was to hear someone speak kindly to him again! And he
answered that he would, and the sailors helped him to climb up the
side of the ship. When they got to Arabia the captain took him to the
public baths, and ordered one of the slaves to wash him. Whilst he was
being washed the princess's ring slipped off his finger and was
afterwards found by the slave who cleaned out the bath. The man showed
it to a friend of his who lived at the palace.

'Why, it is the princess's ring!' he said. 'Where did it come from?'

'It fell off a blind man's finger,' said the slave. 'He must have
stolen it; but I dare say you will be able to return it to the
princess.'

So that evening the man took the ring to the palace and gave it to
his daughter, who was the princess's favourite slave, and the girl
gave it to her mistress. When the princess saw it she uttered a cry of
joy.

'It is the ring I gave my betrothed!' she said. 'Take me to him at
once.'

The bath-keeper thought it strange that the princess should be
betrothed to a blind beggar, but he did as she bade him, and when she
saw the prince she cried:

'At last you have come! The year is over, and I thought you were dead.
Now we will be married immediately.' And she went home and told the
king that he was to send an escort to bring her betrothed to the
palace. Naturally the king was rather surprised at the sudden arrival
of the prince; but when he heard that he was blind he was very much
annoyed.

'I cannot have a blind person to succeed me,' he said. 'It is
perfectly absurd!'

But the princess had had her own way all her life, and in the end the
king gave way as he had always done. The prince was taken to the
palace with much ceremony and splendour; but in spite of this the king
was not contented. Still, it could not be helped, and really it was
time the princess was married, though she looked as young as ever.
There had been hundreds of knights and princes who had begged her to
bestow her hand upon them, but she would have nothing to do with
anyone; and now she had taken it into her head to marry this blind
prince, and nobody else would she have.

       *       *       *       *       *

One evening, as it was fine, the prince and princess went into the
garden, and sat down under a tree.

Two ravens were perched on a bush near by, and the prince, who could
understand bird language, heard one of them say: 'Do you know that it
is Midsummer-eve to-night?'

'Yes,' said the other.

'And do you know that part of the garden which is known as the
Queen's Bed?'

'Yes.'

'Well, perhaps you don't know this, that whoever has bad eyes, or no
eyes at all, should bathe his eye-sockets in the dew that falls there
to-night, because then he will get his sight back. Only he must do it
between twelve and one o'clock.'

That was good news for the prince and princess to hear, and the young
man begged the princess to lead him to the place called the Queen's
Bed, which was the little plot of grass where the queen used often to
lie down and take her midday nap. Then, between twelve and one
o'clock, he bathed his eyes with the dew that was falling there, and
found he could see again as well as ever.

'I can see you!' he said to the princess, gazing at her as if he had
never seen anything before.

'I don't believe it,' she answered.

'Well, go and hang your handkerchief on a bush, and if I find it at
once you _must_ believe me,' he said.

And so she did, and he went straight up to the handkerchief.

'Yes, indeed, you can see,' cried the princess. 'To think that my
mother's bed has really given back your sight!' and she went to the
bank and sat down again; and by-and-by, as the day was hot, the
princess fell asleep. As the prince watched her he suddenly saw
something shining on her neck. It was a little golden lamp that gave
out a bright light, and it hung from a golden chain. The prince
thought he would like to examine it more closely, so he unfastened the
chain, but as he did so the lamp fell to the ground. Before he could
pick it up a hawk flew in, snatched up the little lamp and flew away
again with it. The prince set off in pursuit, and ran on and on
without being able to catch the bird, until at length he had lost his
way. Trying to find it, he wandered on, up and down, until he came to
the forest where he had found the princess.

Meantime, the princess woke up, and finding herself alone she set out
to look for him. In the end she also lost her way, and as she was
walking about, not knowing what to do, the robbers captured her and
took her back to the cave from which the prince had rescued her. So
there they were after all their trouble--no better off than before!

  [Illustration: THE HAWK FLIES AWAY WITH THE LAMP]

The prince wandered on, trying to find his way back to Arabia, until
he chanced one day to meet twelve youths, walking gaily through the
forest, singing and laughing. 'Where are you going?' he asked. And
they told him they were looking for work.

'I'll join you, if I may,' said the prince. And they answered: 'The
more the merrier.'

Then the prince went with them, and they all journeyed on until they
met an old troll.

'Where are you going, my masters?' asked the troll.

'To seek service,' they told him.

'Then come and serve me,' he said; 'there will be plenty to eat and
drink, and not much work to do, and if, at the end of a year, you can
answer three questions, I'll give you each a sack of gold. Otherwise
you must be turned into beasts.'

The youths thought this sounded easy enough, so they went home with
the troll to his castle.

'You will find all that you want here,' he said; 'and all you need do
is to take care of the house, for I am going away, and shall only
return when the year is over.'

Then he went away, and the young men, left to themselves, had a fine
time of it; for they did no work, and only amused themselves with
singing and drinking. Every day they found the table laid with good
things to eat and drink, and when they had finished, the plates and
dishes were cleared away by invisible hands. Only the prince, who was
sad for his lost princess, ate and drank sparingly, and worked hard
keeping the house in order.

One day, as he sat in his own room, he heard the voice of the old
troll beneath his window talking to another troll.

'To-morrow,' said he, 'the year is up.'

'And what questions will you ask?' inquired the other.

'First I shall ask how long they have been here--they don't know, the
young fools! Secondly I shall ask what shines on the roof of the
castle.'

'And what is that?'

'The lamp that was stolen by me from the princess as she slept in the
garden.'

'And what is the third question?'

'I shall ask where the food and drink they consume every day come
from. I steal it from the king's table; but they don't know that.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The day after, the troll entered.

'Now I shall ask my questions,' said he. 'To begin with: How long have
you been here?'

The young men had been so busy drinking and making merry that they had
forgotten all about the agreement, so they remained silent.

'One week,' said one, at last.

'Two months,' guessed another. But the prince answered, 'One year.'

'Right,' replied the troll. But the second question was more
difficult.

'What is it that shines on the roof?'

The young men guessed and guessed. 'The sun--the moon.' But none of
them really knew.

'May I answer?' asked the prince.

'Yes, certainly,' replied the troll; and the prince spoke.

'The lamp that you stole from the princess whilst she was asleep in
the garden.' And again the troll nodded.

The third question was harder still.

'Where does the meat and drink you have had here come from?'

None of the young men could guess.

'May I say?' asked the prince.

'Yes, if you can,' replied the troll.

'It comes from the king's table,' said the prince.

And that was all. Now they might take the sacks of gold and go, and
the young men went off in such a hurry that the prince was left
behind. Presently, they met an old man who asked for money.

'No, we haven't any,' they answered.

So they hurried on, and by-and-by up came the prince.

'Has your lordship a piece of money for a poor man?' asked the old
fellow.

'Yes,' said the prince, and gave him his whole sackful.

'I don't want it,' said the old man, who was really the troll they had
just left in disguise. 'But since you're so generous, here is the
princess's lamp, and the princess herself is in the cave where you
found her; but how you're going to save her again without the magic
sword I don't know.'

When he heard that, the prince knew where she was; and that was the
beginning of her rescue. So he disguised himself to look like a
peddler and travelled on until he reached his own city, where his
mother, the queen, and the robber-chief were living. Then he went in
to a goldsmith's shop and ordered a great number of kitchen pots to be
made out of pure gold. That was not an order the goldsmith had every
day, but the things were ready at last, saucepans and kettles and
gridirons all of pure gold. Then the prince put them in his basket and
went up to the palace, and asked to see the queen.

Directly she heard about the wonderful gold pots and pans she came out
at once, and began unpacking the basket and admiring the things. She
was so absorbed in them that the prince soon found an opportunity to
steal into the bedroom and take the sword and shirt which were hung
there, and go back again without his mother having noticed his
absence.

'The things are all beautiful!' she said. 'How much would you take for
them?'

'Name your own price, your majesty,' answered the prince.

'I really don't know what to say,' said the queen. 'Wait till my
husband comes back--men understand such things better; and then, as
you are a stranger, he would like to chat with you a little.' The
prince bowed, and waited silently in a corner.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after the robber returned.

'Come and see all these lovely gold saucepans!' cried the queen.

But, as the robber entered the room, the prince touched him with the
magic sword, and he fell to the ground.

'Perhaps, now you know me, mother,' the prince said, taking off his
disguise, 'you had better repent for all the wrong you have done me,
or your life will be short.'

'Oh, have mercy!' she cried, 'I could not help it. I was so
frightened.'

The prince had mercy. He ordered the wicked king to be stripped of his
fine clothes, and to be driven into the forest, where the wild beasts
tore him to pieces. The queen he sent to her own country. Then he set
off for the cave where the princess was sitting chained as before, and
with the help of the magic sword he rescued her again without any
difficulty. They soon reached the port and set sail for Arabia, where
they were married; and till they died, a long while after, they
reigned happily over both countries.

(From _Eventyr fra Gylbauck samlede og optegnede af Evald Tang
Kristensen_. Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen.)




_THE CLEVER WEAVER_


Once upon a time the king of a far country was sitting on his throne,
listening to the complaints of his people, and judging between them.
That morning there had been fewer cases than usual to deal with, and
the king was about to rise and go into his gardens, when a sudden stir
was heard outside, and the lord high chamberlain entered, and inquired
if his majesty would be graciously pleased to receive the ambassador
of a powerful emperor who lived in the east, and was greatly feared by
the neighbouring sovereigns. The king, who stood as much in dread of
him as the rest, gave orders that the envoy should be admitted at
once, and that a banquet should be prepared in his honour. Then he
settled himself again on his throne, wondering what the envoy had to
say.

The envoy said nothing. He advanced to the throne where the king was
awaiting him, and stooping down, traced on the floor with a rod which
he held in his hand a black circle all round it. Then he sat down on a
seat that was near, and took no further notice of anyone.

The king and his courtiers were equally mystified and enraged at this
strange behaviour, but the envoy sat as calm and still as an image,
and it soon became plain that they would get no explanation from
_him_. The ministers were hastily summoned to a council, but not one
of them could throw any light upon the subject. This made the king
more angry than ever, and he told them that unless before sunset they
could find someone capable of solving the mystery he would hang them
all.

The king was, as the ministers knew, a man of his word; and they
quickly mapped out the city into districts, so that they might visit
house by house, and question the occupants as to whether they could
fathom the action of the ambassador. Most of them received no reply
except a puzzled stare; but, luckily, one of them was more observant
than the rest, and on entering an empty cottage where a swing was
swinging of itself, he began to think it might be worth while for him
to see the owner. Opening a door leading into another room, he found a
second swing, swinging gently like the first, and from the window he
beheld a patch of corn, and a willow which moved perpetually without
any wind, in order to frighten away the sparrows. Feeling more and
more curious, he descended the stairs and found himself in a large
light workshop in which was seated a weaver at his loom. But all the
weaver did was to guide his threads, for the machine that he had
invented to set in motion the swings and the willow pole made the loom
work.

When he saw the great wheel standing in the corner, and had guessed
the use of it, the merchant heaved a sigh of relief. At any rate, if
the weaver could not guess the riddle, he at least might put the
minister on the right track. So without more ado he told the story of
the circle, and ended by declaring that the person who could explain
its meaning should be handsomely rewarded.

'Come with me at once,' he said. 'The sun is low in the heavens, and
there is no time to lose.'

The weaver stood thinking for a moment and then walked across to a
window, outside of which was a hen-coop with two knuckle-bones lying
beside it. These he picked up, and taking the hen from the coop, he
tucked it under his arm.

'I am ready,' he answered, turning to the minister.

In the hall the king still sat on his throne, and the envoy on his
seat. Signing to the minister to remain where he was, the weaver
advanced to the envoy, and placed the knuckle-bones on the floor
beside him. For answer, the envoy took a handful of millet seed out of
his pocket and scattered it round; upon which the weaver set down the
hen, who ate it up in a moment. At that the envoy rose without a word,
and took his departure.

As soon as he had left the hall, the king beckoned to the weaver.

'You alone seem to have guessed the riddle,' said he, 'and great shall
be your reward. But tell me, I pray you, what it all means?'

'The meaning, O king,' replied the weaver, 'is this: The circle drawn
by the envoy round your throne is the message of the emperor, and
signifies, "If I send an army and surround your capital, will you lay
down your arms?" The knuckle-bones which I placed before him told him,
"You are but children in comparison with us. Toys like these are the
only playthings you are fit for." The millet that he scattered was an
emblem of the number of soldiers that his master can bring into the
field; but by the hen which ate up the seed he understood that one of
our men could destroy a host of theirs.'

'I do not think,' he added, 'that the emperor will declare war.'

'You have saved me and my honour,' cried the king, 'and wealth and
glory shall be heaped upon you. Name your reward, and you shall have
it even to the half of my kingdom.'

'The small farm outside the city gates, as a marriage portion for my
daughter, is all I ask,' answered the weaver, and it was all he would
accept. 'Only, O king,' were his parting words, 'I would beg of you to
remember that weavers also are of value to a state, and that they are
sometimes cleverer even than ministers!'

(From _Contes Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler.)




_THE BOY WHO FOUND FEAR AT LAST_


Once upon a time there lived a woman who had one son whom she loved
dearly. The little cottage in which they dwelt was built on the
outskirts of a forest, and as they had no neighbours, the place was
very lonely, and the boy was kept at home by his mother to bear her
company.

They were sitting together on a winter's evening, when a storm
suddenly sprang up, and the wind blew the door open. The woman started
and shivered, and glanced over her shoulder as if she half expected to
see some horrible thing behind her. 'Go and shut the door,' she said
hastily to her son, 'I feel frightened.'

'Frightened?' repeated the boy. 'What does it feel like to be
frightened?'

'Well--just frightened,' answered the mother. 'A fear of something,
you hardly know what, takes hold of you.'

'It must be very odd to feel like that,' replied the boy. 'I will go
through the world and seek fear till I find it.' And the next morning,
before his mother was out of bed, he had left the forest behind him.

After walking for some hours he reached a mountain, which he began to
climb. Near the top, in a wild and rocky spot, he came upon a band of
fierce robbers, sitting round a fire. The boy, who was cold and tired,
was delighted to see the bright flames, so he went up to them and
said, 'Good greeting to you, sirs,' and wriggled himself in between
the men, till his feet almost touched the burning logs.

The robbers stopped drinking and eyed him curiously, and at last the
captain spoke.

'No caravan of armed men would dare to come here, even the very birds
shun our camp, and who are you to venture in so boldly?'

'Oh, I have left my mother's house in search of fear. Perhaps you can
show it to me?'

'Fear is wherever _we_ are,' answered the captain.

'But _where_?' asked the boy, looking round. 'I see nothing.'

'Take this pot and some flour and butter and sugar over to the
churchyard which lies down there, and bake us a cake for supper,'
replied the robber. And the boy, who was by this time quite warm,
jumped up cheerfully, and slinging the pot over his arm, ran down the
hill.

When he got to the churchyard he collected some sticks and made a
fire; then he filled the pot with water from a little stream close by,
and mixing the flour and butter and sugar together, he set the cake on
to cook. It was not long before it grew crisp and brown, and then the
boy lifted it from the pot and placed it on a stone, while he put out
the fire. At that moment a hand was stretched from a grave, and a
voice said:

'Is that cake for me?'

'Do you think I am going to give to the dead the food of the living?'
replied the boy, with a laugh. And giving the hand a tap with his
spoon, and picking up the cake, he went up the mountain side,
whistling merrily.

'Well, have you found fear?' asked the robbers when he held out the
cake to the captain.

  [Illustration: THE BOY SECURES THE BRACELET]

'No; was it there?' answered the boy. 'I saw nothing but a hand which
came from a grave, and belonged to someone who wanted my cake, but I
just rapped the fingers with my spoon, and said it was not for him,
and then the hand vanished. Oh, how nice the fire is!' And he flung
himself on his knees before it, and so did not notice the glances of
surprise cast by the robbers at each other.

'There is another chance for you,' said one at length. 'On the other
side of the mountain lies a deep pool; go to that, and perhaps you may
meet fear on the way.'

'I hope so, indeed,' answered the boy. And he set out at once.

He soon beheld the waters of the pool gleaming in the moonlight, and
as he drew near he saw a tall swing standing just over it, and in the
swing a child was seated, weeping bitterly.

'That is a strange place for a swing,' thought the boy; 'but I wonder
what he is crying about.' And he was hurrying on towards the child,
when a maiden ran up and spoke to him.

'I want to lift my little brother from the swing,' cried she, 'but it
is so high above me, that I cannot reach. If you will get closer to
the edge of the pool, and let me mount on your shoulder, I think I can
reach him.'

'Willingly,' replied the boy, and in an instant the girl had climbed
to his shoulders. But instead of lifting the child from the swing, as
she could easily have done, she pressed her feet so firmly on either
side of the youth's neck, that he felt that in another minute he would
be choked, or else fall into the water beneath him. So gathering up
all his strength, he gave a mighty heave, and threw the girl
backwards. As she touched the ground a bracelet fell from her arm, and
this the youth picked up.

'I may as well keep it as a remembrance of all the queer things that
have happened to me since I left home,' he said to himself, and
turning to look for the child, he saw that both it and the swing had
vanished, and that the first streaks of dawn were in the sky.

With the bracelet on his arm, the youth started for a little town
which was situated in the plain on the further side of the mountain,
and as, hungry and thirsty, he entered its principal street, a Jew
stopped him. 'Where did you get that bracelet?' asked the Jew. 'It
belongs to me.'

'No, it is mine,' replied the boy.

'It is not. Give it to me at once, or it will be the worse for you!'
cried the Jew.

'Let us go before a judge, and tell him our stories,' said the boy.
'If he decides in your favour, you shall have it; if in mine, I will
keep it!'

To this the Jew agreed, and the two went together to the great hall,
in which the kadi was administering justice. He listened very
carefully to what each had to say, and then pronounced his verdict.
Neither of the two claimants had proved his right to the bracelet,
therefore it must remain in the possession of the judge till its
fellow was brought before him.

When they heard this, the Jew and the boy looked at each other, and
their eyes said: 'Where are we to go to find the other one?' But as
they knew there was no use in disputing the decision, they bowed low
and left the hall of audience.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wandering he knew not whither, the youth found himself on the
sea-shore. At a little distance was a ship which had struck on a
hidden rock, and was rapidly sinking, while on deck the crew were
gathered, with faces white as death, shrieking and wringing their
hands.

'Have you met with fear?' shouted the boy. And the answer came above
the noise of the waves.

'Oh, help! help! We are drowning!'

Then the boy flung off his clothes, and swam to the ship, where many
hands were held out to draw him on board.

'The ship is tossed hither and thither, and will soon be sucked down,'
cried the crew again. 'Death is very near, and we are frightened!'

  [Illustration: THE SEA-MAIDEN WITH A WICKED FACE]

'Give me a rope,' said the boy in reply, and he took it, and made it
safe round his body at one end, and to the mast at the other, and
sprang into the sea. Down he went, down, down, down, till at last his
feet touched the bottom, and he stood up and looked about him. There,
sure enough, a sea-maiden with a wicked face was tugging hard at a
chain which she had fastened to the ship with a grappling iron, and
was dragging it bit by bit beneath the waves. Seizing her arms in both
his hands, he forced her to drop the chain, and the ship above
remaining steady, the sailors were able gently to float her off the
rock. Then taking a rusty knife from a heap of seaweed at his feet, he
cut the rope round his waist and fastened the sea-maiden firmly to a
stone, so that she could do no more mischief, and bidding her
farewell, he swam back to the beach, where his clothes were still
lying.

The youth dressed himself quickly and walked on till he came to a
beautiful shady garden filled with flowers, and with a clear little
stream running through. The day was hot, and he was tired, so he
entered the gate, and seated himself under a clump of bushes covered
with sweet-smelling red blossoms, and it was not long before he fell
asleep. Suddenly a rush of wings and a cool breeze awakened him, and
raising his head cautiously, he saw three doves plunging into the
stream. They splashed joyfully about, and shook themselves, and then
dived to the bottom of a deep pool. When they appeared again they were
no longer three doves, but three beautiful damsels, bearing between
them a table made of mother of pearl. On this they placed drinking
cups fashioned from pink and green shells, and one of the maidens
filled a cup from a crystal goblet, and was raising it to her mouth,
when her sister stopped her.

'To whose health do you drink?' asked she.

'To the youth who prepared the cake, and rapped my hand with the spoon
when I stretched it out of the earth,' answered the maiden, 'and was
never afraid as other men were! But to whose health do you drink?'

'To the youth on whose shoulders I climbed at the edge of the pool,
and who threw me off with such a jerk, that I lay unconscious on the
ground for hours,' replied the second. 'But you, my sister,' added
she, turning to the third girl, 'to whom do you drink?'

'Down in the sea I took hold of a ship and shook it and pulled it till
it would soon have been lost,' said she. And as she spoke she looked
quite different from what she had done with the chain in her hands,
seeking to work mischief. 'But a youth came, and freed the ship and
bound me to a rock. To his health I drink,' and they all three lifted
their cups and drank silently.

As they put their cups down, the youth appeared before them.

'Here am I, the youth whose health you have drunk; and now give me the
bracelet that matches a jewelled band which of a surety fell from the
arm of one of you. A Jew tried to take it from me, but I would not let
him have it, and he dragged me before the kadi, who kept my bracelet
till I could show him its fellow. And I have been wandering hither and
thither in search of it, and that is how I have found myself in such
strange places.'

'Come with us, then,' said the maidens, and they led him down a
passage into a hall, out of which opened many chambers, each one of
greater splendour than the last. From a shelf heaped up with gold and
jewels the eldest sister took a bracelet, which in every way was
exactly like the one which was in the judge's keeping, and fastened it
to the youth's arm.

'Go at once and show this to the kadi,' said she, 'and he will give
you the fellow to it.'

'I shall never forget you,' answered the youth, 'but it may be long
before we meet again, for I shall never rest till I have found fear.'
Then he went his way, and won the bracelet from the kadi. After this,
he again set forth in his quest of fear.

On and on walked the youth, but fear never crossed his path, and one
day he entered a large town, where all the streets and squares were so
full of people, he could hardly pass between them.

'Why are all these crowds gathered together?' he asked of a man who
stood next him.

'The ruler of this country is dead,' was the reply, 'and as he had no
children, it is needful to choose a successor. Therefore each morning
one of the sacred pigeons is let loose from the tower yonder, and on
whomsoever the bird shall perch, that man is our king. In a few
minutes the pigeon will fly. Wait and see what happens.'

Every eye was fixed on the tall tower which stood in the centre of the
chief square, and the moment that the sun was seen to stand straight
over it, a door was opened and a beautiful pigeon, gleaming with pink
and grey, blue and green, came rushing through the air. Onward it
flew, onward, onward, till at length it rested on the head of the boy.
Then a great shout arose:

'The king! the king!' but as he listened to the cries, a vision,
swifter than lightning, flashed across his brain. He saw himself
seated on a throne, spending his life trying, and never succeeding, to
make poor people rich; miserable people happy; bad people good; never
doing anything he wished to do, not able even to marry the girl that
he loved.

'No! no!' he shrieked, hiding his face in his hands; but the crowds
who heard him thought he was overcome by the grandeur that awaited
him, and paid no heed.

'Well, to make quite sure, let fly more pigeons,' said they, but each
pigeon followed where the first had led, and the cries arose louder
than ever:

'The king! the king!' And as the young man heard, a cold shiver, that
he knew not the meaning of, ran through him.

'This is fear whom you have so long sought,' whispered a voice, which
seemed to reach his ears alone. And the youth bowed his head as the
vision once more flashed before his eyes, and he accepted his doom,
and made ready to pass his life with fear beside him.

(Adapted from _Türkische Volksmärchen_. Von Dr. Ignaz Künos. E. J.
Brill, Leiden.)




_HE WINS WHO WAITS_


Once upon a time there reigned a king who had an only daughter. The
girl had been spoiled by everybody from her birth, and, besides being
beautiful, was clever and wilful, and when she grew old enough to be
married she refused to have anything to say to the prince whom her
father favoured, but declared she would choose a husband for herself.
By long experience the king knew that when once she had made up her
mind, there was no use expecting her to change it, so he inquired
meekly what she wished him to do.

'Summon all the young men in the kingdom to appear before me a month
from to-day,' answered the princess; 'and the one to whom I shall give
this golden apple shall be my husband.'

'But, my dear--' began the king, in tones of dismay.

'The one to whom I shall give this golden apple shall be my husband,'
repeated the princess, in a louder voice than before. And the king
understood the signal, and with a sigh proceeded to do her bidding.

       *       *       *       *       *

The young men arrived--tall and short, dark and fair, rich and poor.
They stood in rows in the great courtyard in front of the palace, and
the princess, clad in robes of green, with a golden veil flowing
behind her, passed before them all, holding the apple. Once or twice
she stopped and hesitated, but in the end she always passed on, till
she came to a youth near the end of the last row. There was nothing
specially remarkable about him, the bystanders thought; nothing that
was likely to take a girl's fancy. A hundred others were handsomer,
and all wore finer clothes; but he met the princess's eyes frankly and
with a smile, and she smiled too, and held out the apple.

'There is some mistake,' cried the king, who had anxiously watched her
progress, and hoped that none of the candidates would please her. 'It
is impossible that she can wish to marry the son of a poor widow, who
has not a farthing in the world! Tell her that I will not hear of it,
and that she must go through the rows again and fix upon someone
else'; and the princess went through the rows a second and a third
time, and on each occasion she gave the apple to the widow's son.
'Well, marry him if you will,' exclaimed the angry king; 'but at least
you shall not stay here.' And the princess answered nothing, but threw
up her head, and taking the widow's son by the hand, they left the
castle.

That evening they were married, and after the ceremony went back to
the house of the bridegroom's mother, which, in the eyes of the
princess, did not look much bigger than a hen-coop.

The old woman was not at all pleased when her son entered bringing his
bride with him.

'As if we were not poor enough before,' grumbled she. 'I dare say this
is some fine lady who can do nothing to earn her living.' But the
princess stroked her arm, and said softly:

'Do not be vexed, dear mother; I am a famous spinner, and can sit at
my wheel all day without breaking a thread.'

  [Illustration: THE PRINCESS CHOOSES]

And she kept her word; but in spite of the efforts of all three, they
became poorer and poorer; and at the end of six months it was agreed
that the husband should go to the neighbouring town to get work. Here
he met a merchant who was about to start on a long journey with a
train of camels laden with goods of all sorts, and needed a man to
help him. The widow's son begged that he would take him as a servant,
and to this the merchant assented, giving him his whole year's salary
beforehand. The young man returned home with the news, and next day
bade farewell to his mother and his wife, who were very sad at parting
from him.

'Do not forget me while you are absent,' whispered the princess as she
flung her arms round his neck; 'and as you pass by the well which lies
near the city gate, stop and greet the old man you will find sitting
there. Kiss his hand, and then ask him what counsel he can give you
for your journey.'

Then the youth set out, and when he reached the well where the old man
was sitting he asked the questions as his wife had bidden him.

'My son,' replied the old man, 'you have done well to come to me, and
in return remember three things: "She whom the heart loves, is ever
the most beautiful." "Patience is the first step on the road to
happiness." "He wins who waits."'

The young man thanked him and went on his way. Next morning early the
caravan set out, and before sunset it had arrived at the first halting
place, round some wells, where another company of merchants had
already encamped. But no rain had fallen for a long while in that
rocky country, and both men and beasts were parched with thirst. To be
sure, there _was_ another well about half a mile away, where there was
always water; but to get it you had to be lowered deep down, and,
besides, no one who had ever descended that well had been known to
come back.

However, till they could store some water in their bags of goat-skin,
the caravans dared not go further into the desert, and on the night of
the arrival of the widow's son and his master, the merchants had
decided to offer a large reward to anyone who was brave enough to go
down into the enchanted well and bring some up. Thus it happened that
at sunrise the young man was aroused from his sleep by a herald making
his round of the camp, proclaiming that every merchant present would
give a thousand piastres to the man who would risk his life to bring
water for themselves and their camels.

The youth hesitated for a little while when he heard the proclamation.
The story of the well had spread far and wide, and long ago had
reached his ears. The danger was great, he knew; but then, if he came
back alive, he would be the possessor of eighty thousand piastres. He
turned to the herald who was passing the tent:

'_I_ will go,' said he.

'What madness!' cried his master, who happened to be standing near.
'You are too young to throw away your life like that. Run after the
herald and tell him you take back your offer.' But the young man shook
his head, and the merchant saw that it was useless to try and persuade
him.

'Well, it is your own affair,' he observed at last. 'If you must go,
you must. Only, if you ever return, I will give you a camel's load of
goods and my best mule besides.' And touching his turban in token of
farewell, he entered the tent.

Hardly had he done so than a crowd of men were seen pouring out of the
camp.

'How can we thank you!' they exclaimed, pressing round the youth. 'Our
camels as well as ourselves are almost dead of thirst. See! here is
the rope we have brought to let you down.'

'Come, then,' answered the youth. And they all set out.

On reaching the well, the rope was knotted securely under his arms, a
big goat-skin bottle was given him, and he was gently lowered to the
bottom of the pit. Here a clear stream was bubbling over the rocks,
and, stooping down, he was about to drink, when a huge Arab appeared
before him, saying in a loud voice:

'Come with me!'

The young man rose, never doubting that his last hour had come; but as
he could do nothing, he followed the Arab into a brilliantly lighted
hall, on the further side of the little river. There his guide sat
down, and drawing towards him two boys, one black and the other white,
he said to the stranger:

'I have a question to ask you. If you answer it right, your life shall
be spared. If not, your head will be forfeit, as the head of many
another has been before you. Tell me: which of my two children do I
think the handsomer.'

The question did not seem a hard one, for while the white boy was as
beautiful a child as ever was seen, his brother was ugly even for a
negro. But, just as the youth was going to speak, the old man's
counsel flashed into the youth's mind, and he replied hastily: 'The
one whom we love best is always the handsomest.'

'You have saved me!' cried the Arab, rising quickly from his seat, and
pressing the young man in his arms. 'Ah! if you could only guess what
I have suffered from the stupidity of all the people to whom I have
put that question, and I was condemned by a wicked genius to remain
here until it was answered! But what brought you to this place, and
how can I reward you for what you have done for me?'

'By helping me to draw enough water for my caravan of eighty merchants
and their camels, who are dying for want of it,' replied the youth.

'That is easily done,' said the Arab. 'Take these three apples, and
when you have filled your skin, and are ready to be drawn up, lay one
of them on the ground. Half-way to the earth, let fall another, and at
the top, drop the third. If you follow my directions no harm will
happen to you. And take, besides, these three pomegranates, green,
red and white. One day you will find a use for them!'

The young man did as he was told, and stepped out on the rocky waste,
where the merchants were anxiously awaiting him. Oh, how thirsty they
all were! But even after the camels had drunk, the skin seemed as full
as ever.

Full of gratitude for their deliverance, the merchants pressed the
money into his hands, while his own master bade him choose what goods
he liked, and a mule to carry them.

So the widow's son was rich at last, and when the merchant had sold
his merchandise, and returned home to his native city, his servant
hired a man by whom he sent the money and the mule back to his wife.

'I will send the pomegranates also,' thought he 'for if I leave them
in my turban they may some day fall out,' and he drew them out of his
turban. But the fruit had vanished, and in their places were three
precious stones, green, white and red.

For a long time he remained with the merchant, who gradually trusted
him with all his business, and gave him a large share of the money he
made. When his master died, the young man wished to return home, but
the widow begged him to stay and help her; and one day he awoke with a
start, to remember that twenty years had passed since he had gone
away.

'I want to see my wife,' he said next morning to his mistress. 'If at
any time I can be of use to you, send a messenger to me; meanwhile, I
have told Hassan what to do.' And mounting a camel he set out.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, soon after he had taken service with the merchant a little boy
had been born to him, and both the princess and the old woman toiled
hard all day to get the baby food and clothing. When the money and the
pomegranates arrived there was no need for them to work any more, and
the princess saw at once that they were not fruit at all, but precious
stones of great value. The old woman, however, not being accustomed,
like her daughter-in-law, to the sight of jewels, took them only for
common fruit, and wished to give them to the child to eat. She was
very angry when the princess hastily took them from her and hid them
in her dress, while she went to the market and bought the three finest
pomegranates she could find, which she handed the old woman for the
little boy.

Then she bought beautiful new clothes for all of them, and when they
were dressed they looked as fine as could be. Next, she took out one
of the precious stones which her husband had sent her, and placed it
in a small silver box. This she wrapped up in a handkerchief
embroidered in gold, and filled the old woman's pockets with gold and
silver pieces.

'Go, dear mother,' she said, 'to the palace, and present the jewel to
the king, and if he asks you what he can give you in return, tell him
that you want a paper, with his seal attached, proclaiming that no one
is to meddle with anything you may choose to do. Before you leave the
palace distribute the money amongst the servants.'

The old woman took the box and started for the palace. No one there
had ever seen a ruby of such beauty, and the most famous jeweller in
the town was summoned to declare its value. But all he could say was:

'If a boy threw a stone into the air with all his might, and you could
pile up gold as high as the flight of the stone, it would not be
sufficient to pay for this ruby.'

At these words the king's face fell. Having once seen the ruby he
could not bear to part with it, yet all the money in his treasury
would not be enough to buy it. So for a little while he remained
silent, wondering what offer he could make the old woman, and at last
he said:

'If I cannot give you its worth in money, is there anything you will
take in exchange?'

'A paper signed by your hand, and sealed with your seal, proclaiming
that I may do what I will, without let or hindrance,' answered she
promptly. And the king, delighted to have obtained what he coveted at
so small a cost, gave her the paper without delay. Then the old woman
took her leave and returned home.

The fame of this wonderful ruby soon spread far and wide, and envoys
arrived at the little house to know if there were more stones to sell.
Each king was so anxious to gain possession of the treasure that he
bade his messenger outbid all the rest, and so the princess sold the
two remaining stones for a sum of money so large that if the gold
pieces had been spread out they would have reached from here to the
moon. The first thing she did was to build a palace by the side of the
cottage, and it was raised on pillars of gold, in which were set great
diamonds, which blazed night and day. Of course the news of this
palace was the first thing that reached the king her father, on his
return from the wars, and he hurried to see it. In the doorway stood a
young man of twenty, who was his grandson, though neither of them knew
it, and so pleased was the king with the appearance of the youth, that
he carried him back to his own palace, and made him commander of the
whole army.

Not long after this, the widow's son returned to his native land.
There, sure enough, was the tiny cottage where he had lived with his
mother, but the gorgeous building beside it was quite new to him. What
had become of his wife and his mother, and who could be dwelling in
that other wonderful place. These were the first thoughts that flashed
through his mind; but not wishing to betray himself by asking
questions of passing strangers, he climbed up into a tree that stood
opposite the palace and watched.

  [Illustration: BLIND RAGE FILLED THE HEART OF THE WATCHER]

By-and-by a lady came out, and began to gather some of the roses and
jessamine that hung about the porch. The twenty years that had passed
since he had last beheld her vanished in an instant, and he knew her
to be his own wife, looking almost as young and beautiful as on the
day of their parting. He was about to jump down from the tree and
hasten to her side, when she was joined by a young man who placed his
arm affectionately round her neck. At this sight the angry husband
drew his bow, but before he could let fly the arrow, the counsel of
the wise man came back to him: 'Patience is the first step on the road
to happiness.' And he laid it down again.

At this moment the princess turned, and drawing her companion's head
down to hers, kissed him on each cheek. A second time blind rage
filled the heart of the watcher, and he snatched up his bow from the
branch where it hung, when words, heard long since, seemed to sound in
his ears:

'He wins who waits.' And the bow dropped to his side. Then, through
the silent air came the sound of the youth's voice:

'Mother, can you tell me nothing about my father? Does he still live,
and will he never return to us?'

'Alas! my son, how can I answer you?' replied the lady. 'Twenty years
have passed since he left us to make his fortune, and, in that time,
only once have I heard aught of him. But what has brought him to your
mind just now?'

'Because last night I dreamed that he was here,' said the youth, 'and
then I remembered what I have so long forgotten, that I _had_ a
father, though even his very history was strange to me. And now, tell
me, I pray you, all you can concerning him.'

And standing under the jessamine, the son learnt his father's history,
and the man in the tree listened also.

'Oh,' exclaimed the youth, when it was ended, while he twisted his
hands in pain, 'I am general-in-chief, you are the king's daughter,
and we have the most splendid palace in the whole world, yet my father
lives we know not where, and for all we can guess, may be poor and
miserable. To-morrow I will ask the king to give me soldiers, and I
will seek him over the whole earth till I find him.'

Then the man came down from the tree, and clasped his wife and son in
his arms. All that night they talked, and when the sun rose it still
found them talking. But as soon as it was proper, he went up to the
palace to pay his homage to the king, and to inform him of all that
had happened and who they all really were. The king was overjoyed to
think that his daughter, whom he had long since forgiven and sorely
missed, was living at his gates, and was, besides, the mother of the
youth who was so dear to him. 'It was written beforehand,' cried the
monarch. 'You are my son-in-law before the world, and shall be king
after me.'

And the man bowed his head.

He had waited; and he had won.

(From _Contes Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler.)




_THE STEEL CANE_


Once upon a time there lived an old woman who had a small cottage on
the edge of the forest. Behind the cottage was a garden in which all
sorts of vegetables grew, and, beyond that, a field with two or three
cows in it, so her neighbours considered her quite rich, and envied
her greatly.

As long as she was strong enough to work all day in her garden the old
woman never felt lonely, but after a while she had a bad illness,
which left her much weaker than before, and she began to think that
now and then it would be nice to have some one to speak to. Just at
this moment she heard of the death of a shepherd and his wife, who
dwelt on the other side of the plain, leaving a little boy quite alone
in the world.

'That will just suit me,' she said; and sent a man over to bring the
child, whom she intended to adopt for her own.

Now the boy, who was about twelve years old, ought to have considered
himself very lucky, for his new mother was as kind to him as the old
one. But, unfortunately, he made friends with some bad rude companions
whose tricks caused them to be a terror to everyone, and the poor old
woman never ceased regretting her lost solitude.

Things went on in this way for some years, till the boy became a man.

'Perhaps, if he were to be married he might sober down,' she thought
to herself. And she inquired among the neighbours what girls there
were of an age to choose from. At length one was found, good and
industrious, as well as pretty; and as the young man raised no
objections the wedding took place at once, and the bride and
bridegroom went to live in the cottage with the old woman. But no
change was to be seen in the husband's conduct. All day long he was
out amusing himself in the company of his former friends, and if his
wife dared to say anything to him on his return home he beat her with
his stick. And next year, when a baby was born to them, he beat it
also.

At length the old woman's patience was worn out. She saw that it was
quite useless to expect the lazy, idle creature to mend his ways, and
one day she said to him:

'Do you mean to go on like this for ever? Remember, you are no longer
a boy, and it is time that you left off behaving like one. Come, shake
off your bad habits, and work for your wife and child, and above all,
stop beating them. If not I will transform you into an ass, and heavy
loads shall be piled on your back, and men shall ride you. Briars
shall be your food, a goad shall prick you, and in your turn you shall
know how it feels to be beaten.'

But if she expected her words to do any good she soon found out her
mistake, for the young man only grew angry and cried rudely:

'Bah! hold your tongue or I will whip you also.'

'_Will_ you?' she answered grimly: and, swift as lightning she picked
up a steel cane that stood in the corner and laid it across his
shoulders. In an instant his ears had grown long and his face longer,
his arms had become legs, and his body was covered with close grey
hair. Truly, he was an ass; and a very ugly one, too!

'Leave the house!' commanded the old woman. And, shambling awkwardly,
he went.

As he was standing in the path outside, not knowing what to do, a man
passed by.

'Ho! my fine fellow, you are exactly what I was looking for! You don't
seem to have a master, so come with me. I will find something for you
to do.' And taking him by the ear he led him from the cottage.

For seven years the ass led a hard life, just as the old woman had
foretold. But instead of remembering that he had brought all his
suffering on himself, and being sorry for his evil ways, he grew
harder, and more bitter. At the end of the seven years his ass skin
wore out, and he became a man again, and one day returned to the
cottage.

His wife opened the door in answer to his knock; then, letting fall
the latch, she ran inside, crying:

'Grandmother! grandmother! your son has come back!'

'I thought he would,' replied the old woman, going on with her
spinning. 'Well, we could have done very well without him. But as he
is here I suppose he must come in.'

And come in he did. But as the old woman expected, he behaved still
worse than before. For some weeks she allowed him to do what he liked;
then at last she said:

'So experience has taught you nothing! After all, there are very few
people who have sense to learn by it. But take care lest I change you
into a wolf, to be a prey for dogs and men!'

'You talk too much. I shall break your head for you!' was all the
answer she got.

Had the young man looked at her face he might have taken warning, but
he was busy making a pipe, and took no notice. The next moment the
steel cane had touched his shoulders, and a big grey wolf bounded
through the door.

Oh! what a yapping among the dogs, and what a shouting among the
neighbours as they gave chase.

For seven years he led the life of a hunted animal, often cold and
nearly always hungry, and never daring to allow himself a sound sleep.
At the end of that time his wolf skin wore out also, and again he
appeared at the cottage door. But the second seven years had taught
him no more than the first--his conduct was worse than before; and one
day he beat his wife and son so brutally that they screamed to the old
woman to come to their aid.

She did, and brought the steel cane with her. In a second the ruffian
had vanished, and a big black crow was flying about the room, crying
'Gour! Gour!'

The window was open, and he darted through it; and seeking the
companions who had ruined him, he managed to make them understand what
had happened.

'We will avenge you,' said they; and taking up a rope, set out to
strangle the old woman.

But she was ready for them. One stroke of her cane and they were all
changed into a troop of black crows, and _this_ time their feathers
are lasting still.

(From _Contes Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler.)




_THE PUNISHMENT OF THE FAIRY GANGANA_


Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who ruled over a country
so small that you could easily walk round it in one day. They were
both very good, simple people; not very wise, perhaps, but anxious to
be kind to everybody; and this was often a mistake, for the king
allowed all his subjects to talk at once, and offer advice upon the
government of the kingdom as well as upon private matters. And the end
of it all was, that it was very difficult to get any laws made, and,
still more, to get anyone to obey them.

Now, no traveller ever passed through the kingdom without inquiring
how it came to be so small. And this was the reason. As soon as
Petaldo (for that was the king's name) had been born, his father and
mother betrothed him to the niece of their friend the fairy
Gangana--if she should ever have one. But as the years passed on, and
Gangana was still without a niece, the young prince forgot all about
his destined bride, and when he was twenty-five he secretly married
the beautiful daughter of a rich farmer, with whom he had fallen
violently in love.

When the fairy heard the news she fell into a violent rage, and
hurried off to tell the king. The old man thought in his heart that
his son had waited quite long enough; but he did not dare to say so,
lest some dreadful spell might be thrown over them all, and they
should be changed into birds or snakes, or, worst of all, into
stones. So, much against his will, he was obliged to disinherit the
young man, and to forbid him to come to court. Indeed, he would have
been a beggar had it not been for the property his wife had had given
her by the farmer, which the youth obtained permission to erect into a
kingdom.

Most princes would have been very angry at this treatment, especially
as the old king soon died, and the queen was delighted to reign in his
place. But Petaldo was a contented young man, and was quite satisfied
with arranging his tiny court on the model of his father's, and having
a lord chamberlain, and a high steward and several gentlemen in
attendance; while the young queen appointed her own ladies-in-waiting
and maids of honour. He likewise set up a mint to coin money, and
chose a seneschal as head of the five policemen who kept order in the
capital and punished the boys who were caught in the act of throwing
stones at the palace windows.

The first to fill this important office was the young king's
father-in-law, an excellent man of the name of Caboche. He was much
beloved by everyone, and so sensible that he was not at all vain at
rising at once to the dignity of seneschal, when he had only been a
common farmer, but went about his fields every day as usual. This
conduct so struck his king that very soon he never did anything
without consulting him.

Each morning Caboche and his son-in-law had breakfast together, and
when they had finished, the king took out of his iron chest great
bundles of state papers, which he desired to talk over with his
seneschal. Sometimes they would spend two hours at least in deciding
these important matters, but more often after a few minutes Caboche
would say:

'Excuse me, sire, but your majesty does not understand this affair in
the least. Leave it to me, and I will settle it.'

'But what am I to do, then?' asked the king. And his minister
answered:

'Oh, you can rule your wife, and see after your fruit garden. You will
find that those two things will take up all your time.'

'Well, perhaps you are right,' the king replied; secretly glad to be
rid of the cares of government. But though Caboche did all the work,
Petaldo never failed to appear on grand occasions, in his royal mantle
of red linen, holding a sceptre of gilded wood. Meanwhile he passed
his mornings in studying books, from which he learned the proper
seasons to plant his fruit trees, and when they should be pruned; and
his afternoons in his garden, where he put his knowledge into
practice. In the evening he played cards with his father-in-law, and
supped in public with the queen, and by ten o'clock everybody in the
palace was fast asleep.

The queen, on her side, was quite as happy as her husband. She loved
to be in her dairy, and nobody in the kingdom could make such
delicious cheeses. But however busy she might be, she never forgot to
bake a little barley cake, and make a tiny cream cheese, and to put
them under a particular rose-tree in the garden. If you had asked her
whom they were for, and where they went to, she could not have told
you, but would have said that on the night of her marriage a fairy had
appeared to her in a dream, and had bidden her to perform this
ceremony.

After the king and the queen had six children, a little boy was born,
with a small red cap on his head, so that he was quite different from
his brothers and sisters, and his parents loved Cadichon better than
any of them.

The years went on, and the children were growing big, when, one day,
after Gillette the queen had finished baking her cake, and had turned
it out on a plate, a lovely blue mouse crept up the leg of the table
and ran to the plate. Instead of chasing it away, as most women would
have done, the queen pretended not to notice what the mouse was
doing, and was much surprised to see the little creature pick up the
cake and carry it off to the chimney. She sprang forwards to stop it,
when, suddenly, both the mouse and cake vanished, and in their place
stood an old woman only a foot high, whose clothes hung in rags about
her. Taking up a sharp pointed iron stick, she drew on the earthen
floor some strange signs, uttering seven cries as she did so, and
murmuring something in a low voice, among which the queen was sure she
caught the words, 'faith,' 'wisdom,' 'happiness.' Then, seizing the
kitchen broom, she whirled it three times round her head, and
vanished. Immediately there arose a great noise in the next room, and
on opening the door, the queen beheld three large cockchafers, each
one with a princess between its feet, while the princes were seated on
the backs of three swallows. In the middle was a car formed of a
single pink shell, and drawn by two robin redbreasts, and in this car
Cadichon was sitting by the side of the blue mouse, who was dressed in
a splendid mantle of black velvet fastened under her chin. Before the
queen had recovered from her surprise, cockchafers, redbreasts, mouse
and children had all flown, singing, to the window, and disappeared
from view.

The loud shrieks of the queen brought her husband and father running
into the room, and when at last they made out from her broken
sentences what had really happened, they hastily snatched up some
stout sticks that were lying about and set off to the rescue--one
going in one direction and the other in another.

For at least an hour the queen sat sobbing where they had left her,
when at last she was roused by a piece of folded paper falling at her
feet. She stooped and picked it up eagerly, hoping that it might
contain some news of her lost children. It was very short, but when
she had read the few words, Gillette was comforted, for it bade her
take heart, as they were well and happy under the protection of a
fairy. 'On your own faith and prudence depend your happiness,' ended
the writer. 'It is I who have all these years eaten the food you
placed under the rose-tree, and some day I shall reward you for it.
"Everything comes to him who knows how to wait," is the advice given
by,--The Fairy of the Fields.'

Then the queen rose up, and bathed her face, and combed her shining
hair; and as she turned away from her mirror she beheld a linnet
sitting on her bed. No one would have known that it was anything but a
common linnet, and yesterday the queen would have thought so too. But
this morning so many wonderful things had happened that she did not
doubt for a moment that the writer of the letter was before her.

'Pretty linnet,' said she, 'I will try to do all you wish. Only give
me, I pray you, now and then, news of my little Cadichon.'

And the linnet flapped her wings and sang, and flew away. So the queen
knew that she had guessed rightly, and thanked her in her heart.

By-and-by the king and his seneschal returned, hungry and tired with
their fruitless search. They were amazed and rather angry to find the
queen, whom they had left weeping, quite cheerful. Could she _really_
care for her children so little and have forgotten them so soon? What
_could_ have caused this sudden change? But to all their questions
Gillette would only answer: 'Everything comes to him who knows how to
wait.'

'That is true,' replied her father; 'and, after all, your majesty must
remember that the revenues of your kingdom would hardly bear the cost
of seven princes and princesses brought up according to their rank. Be
grateful, then, to those who have relieved you of the burden.'

'You are right! You are always right!' cried the king, whose face once
more beamed with smiles. And life at the palace went on as before,
till Petaldo received a piece of news which disturbed him greatly.

The queen, his mother, who had for some time been a widow, suddenly
made up her mind to marry again, and her choice had fallen on the
young king of the Green Isles, who was younger than her own son, and,
besides, handsome and fond of pleasure, which Petaldo was not. Now the
grandmother, foolish though she was in many respects, had the sense to
see that a woman as old and as plain as she was, could hardly expect a
young man to fall in love with her, and that, if this was to happen,
it would be needful to find some spell which would bring back her
youth and beauty. Of course, the fairy Gangana could have wrought the
change with one wave of her wand; but unluckily the two were no longer
friends, because the fairy had tried hard to persuade the queen to
declare her niece heiress to the crown, which the queen refused to do.
Naturally, therefore, it was no use asking the help of Gangana to
enable the queen to take a second husband, who would be certain to
succeed her; and messengers were sent all over the neighbouring
kingdoms, seeking to find a witch or a fairy who would work the
wished-for miracle. None, however, could be found with sufficient
skill, and at length the queen saw that if ever the king of the Green
Isles was to be her husband she must throw herself on the mercy of the
fairy Gangana.

The fairy's wrath was great when she heard the queen's story, but she
knew very well that, as the king of the Green Isles had spent all his
money, he would probably be ready to marry even an old woman, like her
friend, in order to get more. So, in order to gain time, she hid her
feelings, and told the queen that in three days the spell would be
accomplished.

       *       *       *       *       *

Her words made the queen so happy that twenty years seemed to fall
from her at once, and she counted, not only the hours, but the
minutes to the appointed time. It came at last, and the fairy stood
before her in a long robe of pink and silver, held up by a tiny brown
dwarf, who carried a small box under his arm. The queen received her
with all the marks of respect that she could think of, and at the
request of Gangana, ordered the doors and windows of the great hall to
be closed, and her attendants to retire, so that she and her guest
might be quite alone. Then, opening the box, which was presented to
her on one knee by the dwarf, the fairy took from it a small vellum
book with silver clasps, a wand that lengthened out as you touched it,
and a crystal bottle filled with very clear green water. She next bade
the queen sit on a seat in the middle of the room, and the dwarf to
stand opposite her, after which she stooped down and drew three
circles round them with a golden rod, touched each of them thrice with
her wand, and sprinkled the liquid over both. Gradually the queen's
big features began to grow smaller and her face fresher, while at the
same time the dwarf became about twice as tall as he had been before.
This sight, added to the blue flames which sprang up from the three
circles, so frightened the queen that she fainted in her chair, and
when she recovered, both the page and the fairy had vanished.

At first she felt vaguely puzzled, not remembering clearly what had
happened; then it all came back to her, and jumping up she ran to the
nearest mirror. Oh! how happy she was! Her long nose and her
projecting teeth had become things of beauty, her hair was thick and
curly, and bright gold. The fairy had indeed fulfilled her promise!
But, in her hurry and pleasure, the queen never noticed that she had
not been changed into a beautiful young lady, but into a very tall
little girl of eight or nine years old! Instead of her magnificent
velvet dress, edged with fur and embroidered in gold, she wore a
straight muslin frock, with a little lace apron, while her hair,
which was always combed and twisted and fastened with diamond pins,
hung in curls down her back. But if she had only known, something
besides this had befallen her, for except as regards her love for the
king of the Green Isles, her mind as well as her face had become that
of a child, and this her courtiers were aware of, if she was not. Of
course they could not imagine what had occurred, and did not know how
to behave themselves, till the chief minister set them the example by
ordering his wife and daughters to copy the queen's clothes and way of
speaking. Then, in a short time, the whole court, including the men,
talked and dressed like children, and played with dolls, or little tin
soldiers, while at the state dinners nothing was seen but iced fruits,
or sweet cakes made in the shape of birds and horses. But whatever she
might be doing, the queen hardly ceased talking about the king of the
Green Isles, whom she always spoke of as 'my little husband,' and as
weeks passed on, and he did not come, she began to get very cross and
impatient, so that her courtiers kept away from her as much as they
could. By this time, too, they were growing tired of pretending to be
children, and whispered their intention of leaving the palace and
taking service under a neighbouring sovereign, when, one day, a loud
blast of trumpets announced the arrival of the long-expected guest. In
an instant all was smiles again, and in spite of the strictest rules
of court etiquette, the queen insisted on receiving the young king at
the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, in her haste, she fell over
her dress, and rolled down several steps, screaming like a child, from
fright. She was not really much hurt, though she had scratched her
nose and bruised her forehead, but she was obliged to be carried to
her room and have her face bathed in cold water. Still, in spite of
this, she gave strict orders that the king should be brought to her
presence the moment he entered the palace.

A shrill blast outside her door sent a twinge of pain through the
queen's head, which by this time was aching badly; but in her joy at
welcoming her future husband she paid no heed to it. Between two lines
of courtiers, bowing low, the young king advanced quickly; but at the
sight of the queen and her bandages, broke out into such violent fits
of laughter that he was forced to leave the room, and even the palace.

When the queen had recovered from the vexation caused by the king's
rude behaviour, she bade her attendants to hasten after him and fetch
him back, but no promises or entreaties would persuade him to return.
This of course made the queen's temper even worse than it was before,
and a plot was set on foot to deprive her of the crown, which would
certainly have succeeded had not the fairy Gangana, who had only
wished to prevent her marriage, restored her to her proper shape. But,
far from thanking her friend for this service, the sight of her old
face in the mirror filled her with despair; and from that day she
hated Gangana with a deadly hatred.

And where were Petaldo's children all this while? Why, in the island
of Bambini, where they had playfellows to their hearts' content, and
plenty of fairies to take care of them all. But out of all the seven
princes and princesses whom the queen had seen carried off through the
window, there was only Cadichon who was good and obedient; the other
six were so rude and quarrelsome that they could get no one to play
with them, and at last, as a punishment, the fairy changed them all
into marionettes, till they should learn to behave better.

Now, in an unlucky moment, the Fairy of the Fields determined to visit
her friend the queen of the fairies, who lived in a distant island, in
order to consult her as to what was to become of Cadichon.

As she was entering the Hall of Audience, Gangana was leaving it, and
sharp words were exchanged between them. After her enemy had flown off
in a rage, the Fairy of the Fields poured out the whole story of
Gangana's wickedness to the queen, and implored her counsel.

'Be comforted,' answered the fairy queen. 'For a while she must work
her will, and at this moment she is carrying off Cadichon to the
island where she still holds her niece captive. But should she make an
evil use of the power she has, her punishment will be swift and great.
And now I will give you this precious phial. Guard it carefully, for
the liquid it contains will cause you to become invisible, and safe
from the piercing eyes of all fairies. Against the eyes of mortals it
has no charm!'

With a heart somewhat lighter, the Fairy of the Fields returned to her
own island, and, the better to protect the six new marionettes from
the wicked fairy, she sprinkled them with a few drops of the liquid,
only avoiding just the tips of their noses, so that she might be able
to know them again. Then she set off for the kingdom of Petaldo, which
she found in a state of revolt, because for the first time since he
had ascended the throne he had dared to impose a tax. Indeed, matters
might have ended in a war, or in cutting off the king's head, had not
the fairy discovered a means of contenting everybody, and of
whispering anew to the queen that all was well with her children, for
she dared not tell her of the loss of Cadichon.

And what had become of Cadichon? Well, the Fairy of the Fields had
found out--by means of her books, which had told her--that the poor
little boy had been placed by Gangana in an enchanted island, round
which flowed a rapid river, sweeping rocks and trees in its current.
Besides the river, the island was guarded by twenty-four enormous
dragons, breathing flames, and forming a rampart of fire which it
seemed as if none could pass.

The Fairy of the Fields knew all this, but she had a brave heart, and
determined that by some means or other she would overcome all
obstacles, and rescue Cadichon from the power of Gangana. So, taking
with her the water of invisibility, she sprinkled it over her, and
mounting her favourite winged lizard, set out for the island. When it
appeared in sight she wrapped herself in her fireproof mantle; then,
bidding the lizard return home, she slipped past the dragons and
entered the island.

Scarcely had she done so than she beheld Gangana approaching her,
talking loudly and angrily to a genius who flew by her side. From what
she said, the fairy learned that Petaldo's mother, the old queen, had
died of rage on hearing of the marriage of the king of the Green Isles
to a young and lovely bride, and instead of leaving her kingdom to
Gangana, had bequeathed it to one of the children of her son Petaldo.

'But all the trouble I have had with that foolish old woman shall not
go for nothing,' cried Gangana. 'Go at once to my stables, and fetch
out the strongest and swiftest griffins you can find in the stalls,
and harness them to the yellow coach. Drive this, with all the speed
you may, to the Isle of Bambini, and carry off the six children of
Petaldo that are still there. I will see to Petaldo and Gillette
myself. When I have got them all safe here I will change the parents
into rabbits and the children into dogs. As for Cadichon, I have not
quite made up my mind what I shall do with him.'

The Fairy of the Fields did not wait to hear more. No time was to be
lost in seeking the help of the fairy queen if Petaldo and his family
were to be saved from this dreadful doom. So, without waiting to
summon her lizard, she flew across the island and past the dragons
till her feet once more touched the ground again. But at that instant
a black cloud rolled over her, loud thunder rent the air, and the
earth rocked beneath her. Then wild lightnings lit up the sky, and by
their flashes she saw the four-and-twenty dragons fighting together,
uttering shrieks and yells, till the whole earth must have heard the
uproar. Trembling with terror, the fairy stood rooted to the spot; and
when day broke, island, torrent, and dragons had vanished, and in
their stead was a barren rock. On the summit of the rock stood a black
ostrich, and on its back were seated Cadichon, and the little niece of
the fairy Gangana, for whose sake she had committed so many evil
deeds. While the Fairy of the Fields was gazing in surprise at this
strange sight, the ostrich spread its wings and flew off in the
direction of the Fortunate Isle, and, followed unseen by the good
fairy, entered the great hall where the queen was sitting on her
throne.

Proud and exultant was Gangana in her new shape, for, by all the laws
of fairydom, if she succeeded in laying Cadichon at the feet of the
queen, and received him back from her, he was in her power for life,
and she might do with him as she would. This the good fairy knew well,
and pressed on with all her strength, for the dreadful events of the
night had almost exhausted her. But, with a mighty effort, she
snatched the children away from the back of the ostrich, and placed
them on the lap of the queen.

With a scream of baffled rage the ostrich turned away, and Gangana
stood in her place, waiting for the doom which she had brought upon
herself.

'You have neglected all my warnings,' said the queen, speaking more
sternly than any fairy had ever heard her; 'and my sentence is that
during two hundred years you lose all your privileges as a fairy, and
under the form of an ostrich shall become the slave of the lowest and
wickedest of the genii whom you have made your friends. As for these
children, I shall keep them with me, and they shall be brought up at
my court.'

And so they were, until they grew up and were old enough to be
married. Then the Fairy of the Fields took them back to the kingdom of
the old queen, where Petaldo was now reigning. But the cares of state
proved too heavy both for him and Gillette, after the quiet life they
had led for so many years, and they were rejoiced to be able to lay
aside their crowns, and place them on the heads of Cadichon and his
bride, who was as good as she was beautiful, though she _was_ the
niece of the wicked Gangana! And so well had Cadichon learned the
lessons taught him at the court of the fairy queen, that never since
the kingdom _was_ a kingdom had the people been so well governed or so
happy. And they went about the streets and the fields smiling with joy
at the difference between the old times and the new, and whispering
softly to each other:

'Everything comes to him who knows how to wait.'

(From _Le Cabinet des Fées_.)




_THE SILENT PRINCESS_


Once upon a time there lived in Turkey a pasha who had only one son,
and so dearly did he love this boy that he let him spend the whole day
amusing himself, instead of learning how to be useful like his
friends.

Now the boy's favourite toy was a golden ball, and with this he would
play from morning till night, without troubling anybody. One day, as
he was sitting in the summer-house in the garden, making his ball run
all along the walls and catching it again, he noticed an old woman
with an earthen pitcher coming to draw water from a well which stood
in a corner of the garden. In a moment he had caught his ball and
flung it straight at the pitcher, which fell to the ground in a
thousand pieces. The old woman started with surprise, but said
nothing; only turned round to fetch another pitcher, and as soon as
she had disappeared, the boy hurried out to pick up his ball.

Scarcely was he back in the summer-house when he beheld the old woman
a second time, approaching the well with the pitcher on her shoulder.
She had just taken hold of the handle to lower it into the water,
when--crash! And the pitcher lay in fragments at her feet. Of course
she felt very angry, but for fear of the pasha she still held her
peace, and spent her last pence in buying a fresh pitcher. But when
this also was broken by a blow from the ball, her wrath burst forth,
and shaking her fist towards the summer-house where the boy was
hiding, she cried:

'I wish you may be punished by falling in love with the silent
princess.' And having said this she vanished.

For some time the boy paid no heed to her words--indeed he forgot
them altogether; but as years went by, and he began to think more
about things, the remembrance of the old woman's wish came back to his
mind.

'Who is the silent princess? And why should it be a punishment to fall
in love with her?' he asked himself, and received no answer. However,
that did not prevent him from putting the question again and again,
till at length he grew so weak and ill that he could eat nothing, and
in the end was forced to lie in bed altogether. His father the pasha
became so frightened by this strange disease, that he sent for every
physician in the kingdom to cure him, but no one was able to find a
remedy.

'How did your illness first begin, my son?' asked the pasha one day.
'Perhaps, if we knew that, we should also know better what to do for
you.'

Then the youth told him what had happened all those years before, when
he was a little boy, and what the old woman had said to him.

'Give me, I pray you,' he cried, when his tale was finished, 'give me,
I pray you, leave to go into the world in search of the princess, and
perhaps this evil state may cease.' And, sore though his heart was to
part from his only son, the pasha felt that the young man would
certainly die if he remained at home any longer.

'Go, and peace be with you,' he answered; and went out to call his
trusted steward, whom he ordered to accompany his young master.

Their preparations were soon made, and early one morning the two set
out. But neither old man nor young had the slightest idea where they
were going, or what they were undertaking. First they lost their way
in a dense forest, and from that they at length emerged in a
wilderness where they wandered for six months, not seeing a living
creature and finding scarcely anything to eat or drink, till they
became nothing but skin and bone, while their garments hung in
tatters about them. They had forgotten all about the princess, and
their only wish was to find themselves back in the palace again, when,
one day, they discovered that they were standing on the shoulder of a
mountain. The stones beneath them shone as brightly as diamonds, and
both their hearts beat with joy at beholding a tiny old man
approaching them. The sight awoke all manner of recollections; the
numb feeling that had taken possession of them fell away as if by
magic, and it was with glad voices that they greeted the new-comer.
'Where are we, my friend?' asked they; and the old man told them that
this was the mountain where the sultan's daughter sat, covered by
seven veils, and the shining of the stones was only the reflection of
her own brilliance.

On hearing this news all the dangers and difficulties of their past
wandering vanished from their minds.

'How can I reach her soonest?' asked the youth eagerly. But the old
man only answered:

'Have patience, my son, yet awhile. Another six months must go by
before you arrive at the palace where she dwells with the rest of the
women. And, even so, think well, when you can, as should you fail to
make her speak, you will have to pay forfeit with your life, as others
have done. So beware!'

But the prince only laughed at this counsel--as others had also done.

       *       *       *       *       *

After three months they found themselves on the top of another
mountain, and the prince saw with surprise that its sides were
coloured a beautiful red. Perched on some cliffs, not far off, was a
small village, and the prince proposed to his friend that they should
go and rest there. The villagers, on their part, welcomed them gladly,
and gave them food to eat and beds to sleep on, and thankful indeed
were the two travellers to repose their weary limbs.

The next morning they asked their host if he could tell them whether
they were still many days' journey from the princess, and whether he
knew why the mountain was so much redder than other mountains.

'For three and a half more months you must still pursue your way,'
answered he, 'and by that time you will find yourselves at the gate of
the princess's palace. As for the colour of the mountain, that comes
from the soft hue of her cheeks and mouth, which shines through the
seven veils which cover her. But none have ever beheld her face, for
she sits there, uttering no word, though one hears whispers of many
having lost their lives for her sake.'

The prince, however, would listen no further; and thanking the man for
his kindness, he jumped up and, with the steward, set out to climb the
mountain.

On and on and on they went, sleeping under the trees or in caves, and
living upon berries and any fish they could catch in the rivers. But
at length, when their clothes were nearly in rags and their legs so
tired that they could hardly walk any further, they saw on the top of
the next mountain a palace of yellow marble.

'There it is, at last,' cried the prince; and fresh blood seemed to
spring in his veins. But as he and his companion began to climb
towards the top they paused in horror, for the ground was white with
dead men's skulls. It was the prince who first recovered his voice,
and he said to his friend, as carelessly as he could:

'These must be the skulls of the men who tried to make the princess
speak and failed. Well, if we fail too, our bones will strew the
ground likewise.'

'Oh! turn back now, my prince, while there is yet time,' entreated his
companion. 'Your father gave you into my charge; but when we set out I
did not know that certain death lay before us.'

'Take heart, O Lala, take heart!' answered the prince. 'A man can but
die once. And, besides, the princess will have to speak _some_ day,
you know.'

So they went on again, past skulls and dead men's bones in all
degrees of whiteness. And by-and-by they reached another village,
where they determined to rest for a little while, so that their wits
might be fresh and bright for the task that lay before them. But this
time, though the people were kind and friendly, their faces were
gloomy, and every now and then woeful cries would rend the air.

'Oh! my brother, have I lost you?' 'Oh! my son, shall I see you no
more?' And then, as the prince and his companion asked the meaning of
these laments--which, indeed, was plain enough--the answer was given:

'Ah, you also have come hither to die! This town belongs to the father
of the princess, and when any rash man seeks to move the princess to
speech he must first obtain leave of the sultan. If that is granted
him he is then led into the presence of the princess. What happens
afterwards, perhaps the sight of these bones may help you to guess.'

The young man bowed his head in token of thanks, and stood thoughtful
for a short time. Then, turning to the Lala, he said:

'Well, our destiny will soon be decided! Meanwhile we will find out
all we can, and do nothing rashly.'

For two or three days they wandered about the bazaars, keeping their
eyes and ears open, when, one morning, they met a man carrying a
nightingale in a cage. The bird was singing so joyously that the
prince stopped to listen, and at once offered to buy him from his
owner.

'Oh, why cumber yourself with such a useless thing,' cried the Lala in
disgust; 'have you not enough to occupy your hands and mind, without
taking an extra burden?' But the prince, who liked having his own way,
paid no heed to him, and paying the high price asked by the man, he
carried the bird back to the inn, and hung him up in his chamber. That
evening, as he was sitting alone, trying to think of something that
would make the princess talk, and failing altogether, the nightingale
pecked open her cage door, which was lightly fastened by a stick, and,
perching on his shoulder, murmured softly in his ear:

'What makes you so sad, my prince?' The young man started. In his
native country birds did not talk, and, like many people, he was
always rather afraid of what he did not understand. But in a moment he
felt ashamed of his folly, and explained that he had travelled for
more than a year, and over thousands of miles, to win the hand of the
sultan's daughter. And now that he had reached his goal he could think
of no plan to force her to speak.

'Oh! do not trouble your head about that,' replied the bird, 'it is
quite easy! Go this evening to the women's apartments, and take me
with you, and when you enter the princess's private chamber hide me
under the pedestal which supports the great golden candlestick. The
princess herself will be wrapped so thickly in her seven veils that
she can see nothing, neither can her face be seen by anyone. Then
inquire after her health, but she will remain quite silent; and next
say that you are sorry to have disturbed her, and that you will have a
little talk with the pedestal of the candlestick. When you speak I
will answer.'

The prince threw his mantle over the bird, and started for the palace,
where he begged an audience of the sultan. This was soon granted him,
and leaving the nightingale hidden by the mantle, in a dark corner
outside the door, he walked up to the throne on which his highness was
sitting, and bowed low before him.

'What is your request?' asked the sultan, looking closely at the young
man, who was tall and handsome; but when he heard the tale he shook
his head pityingly.

'If you can make her speak she shall be your wife,' answered he; 'but
if not--did you mark the skulls that strewed the mountain side?'

'Some day a man is bound to break the spell, O sultan,' replied the
youth boldly; 'and why should not I be he as well as another? At any
rate, my word is pledged, and I cannot draw back now.'

'Well, go if you must,' said the sultan. And he bade his attendants
lead the way to the chamber of the princess, but to allow the young
man to enter alone.

Catching up, unseen, his mantle and the cage as they passed into the
dark corridor--for by this time night was coming on--the youth found
himself standing in a room bare except for a pile of silken cushions,
and one tall golden candlestick. His heart beat high as he looked at
the cushions, and knew that, shrouded within the shining veils that
covered them, lay the much longed-for princess. Then, fearful that
after all other eyes might be watching him, he hastily placed the
nightingale under the open pedestal on which the candlestick was
resting, and turning again he steadied his voice, and besought the
princess to tell him of her well-being.

Not by even a movement of her hand did the princess show that she had
heard, and the young man, who of course expected this, went on to
speak of his travels and of the strange countries he had passed
through; but not a sound broke the silence.

       *       *       *       *       *

'I see clearly that you are interested in none of these things,' said
he at last, 'and as I have been forced to hold my peace for so many
months, I feel that now I really _must_ talk to somebody, so I shall
go and address my conversation to the candlestick.' And with that he
crossed the room behind the princess, and cried: 'O fairest of
candlesticks, how are you?'

'Very well indeed, my lord,' answered the nightingale; 'but I wonder
how many years have gone by since any one has spoken with me. And, now
that you have come, rest, I pray you, awhile, and listen to my story.'

'Willingly,' replied the youth, curling himself up on the floor, for
there was no cushion for him to sit on.

'Once upon a time,' began the nightingale, 'there lived a pasha whose
daughter was the most beautiful maiden in the whole kingdom. Suitors
she had in plenty, but she was not easy to please, and at length there
were only three whom she felt she could even _think_ of marrying. Not
knowing which of the three she liked best, she took counsel with her
father, who summoned the young men into his presence, and then told
them that they must each of them learn some trade, and whichever of
them proved the cleverest at the end of six months should become the
husband of the princess.

'Though the three suitors may have been secretly disappointed, they
could not help feeling that this test was quite fair, and left the
palace together, talking as they went of what handicrafts they might
set themselves to follow. The day was hot, and when they reached a
spring that gushed out of the side of the mountain, they stopped to
drink and rest, and then one of them said:

'"It will be best that we should each seek our fortunes alone; so let
us put our rings under this stone, and go our separate ways. And the
first one who returns hither will take his ring, and the others will
take theirs. Thus we shall know whether we have all fulfilled the
commands of the pasha, or if some accident has befallen any of us."

'"Good," replied the other two. And three rings were placed in a
little hole, and carefully covered again by the stone.

'Then they parted, and for six months they knew naught of each other,
till, on the day appointed, they met at the spring. Right glad they
all were, and eagerly they talked of what they had done, and how the
time had been spent.

'"I think I shall win the princess," said the eldest, with a laugh,
"for it is not everybody that is able to accomplish a whole year's
journey in an hour!"

'"That is very clever, certainly," answered his friend; "but if you
are to govern a kingdom it may be still more useful to have the power
of seeing what is happening at a distance; and that is what _I_ have
learnt," replied the second.

'"No, no, my dear comrades," cried the third, "your trades are all
very well; but when the pasha hears that I can bring back the dead to
life he will know which of us three is to be his son-in-law. But come,
there only remain a few hours of the six months he granted us. It is
time that we hastened back to the palace."

'"Stop a moment," said the second, "it would be well to know what is
going on in the palace." And plucking some small leaves from a tree
near by, he muttered some words and made some signs, and laid them on
his eyes. In an instant he turned pale, and uttered a cry.

'"What is it? What is it?" exclaimed the others; and, with a shaking
voice, he gasped:

'"The princess is lying on her bed, and has barely a few minutes to
live. Oh! can no one save her?"

'"_I_ can," answered the third, taking a small box from his turban;
"this ointment will cure any illness. But how to reach her in time?"

'"Give it to me," said the first. And he wished himself by the bedside
of the princess, which was surrounded by the sultan and his weeping
courtiers. Clearly there was not a second to lose, for the princess
had grown unconscious, and her face cold. Plunging his finger into the
ointment he touched her eyes, mouth and ears with the paste, and with
beating heart awaited the result.

'It was swifter than he supposed. As he looked the colour came back
into her cheeks, and she smiled up at her father. The sultan, almost
speechless with joy at this sudden change, embraced his daughter
tenderly, and then turned to the young man to whom he owed her life:

'"Are you not one of those three whom I sent forth to learn a trade
six months ago?" asked he. And the young man answered yes, and that
the other two were even now on their way to the palace, so that the
sultan might judge between them.'

At this point in his story the nightingale stopped, and asked the
prince which of the three he thought had the best right to the
princess.

  [Illustration: THE SILENT PRINCESS SPEAKS AT LAST]

'The one who had learned how to prepare the ointment,' replied he.

'But if it had not been for the man who could see what was happening
at a distance they would never have known that the princess was ill,'
said the nightingale. 'I would give it to _him_.' And the strife
between them waxed hot, till, suddenly, the listening princess
started up from her cushions and cried:

'Oh, you fools! cannot you understand that if it had not been for him
who had power to reach the palace in time the ointment itself would
have been useless, for death would have claimed her? It is he and no
other who ought to have the princess!'

At the first sound of the princess's voice, a slave, who was standing
at the door, ran at full speed to tell the sultan of the miracle which
had taken place, and the delighted father hastened to the spot. But by
this time the princess perceived that she had fallen into a trap which
had been cunningly laid for her, and would not utter another word. All
she could be prevailed on to do was to make signs to her father that
the man who wished to be her husband must induce her to speak three
times. And she smiled to herself beneath her seven veils as she
thought of the impossibility of _that_.

When the sultan told the prince that though he had succeeded once, he
would have twice to pass through the same test, the young man's face
clouded over. It did not seem to him fair play, but he dared not
object, so he only bowed low, and contrived to step back close to the
spot where the nightingale was hidden. As it was now quite dark he
tucked unseen the little cage under his cloak, and left the palace.

'Why are you so gloomy?' asked the nightingale, as soon as they were
safely outside. 'Everything has gone exactly right! Of course the
princess was very angry with herself for having spoken. And did you
see that, at her first words, the veils that covered her began to
rend? Take me back to-morrow evening, and place me on the pillar by
the lattice. Fear nothing, you have only to trust to me!'

The next evening, towards sunset, the prince left the cage behind him,
and with the bird in the folds of his garment slipped into the palace
and made his way straight to the princess's apartments. He was at
once admitted by the slaves who guarded the door, and took care to
pass near the window so that the nightingale hopped unseen to the top
of a pillar. Then he turned and bowed low to the princess, and asked
her several questions; but, as before, she answered nothing, and,
indeed, gave no sign that she heard. After a few minutes the young man
bowed again, and crossing over to the window, he said:

'Oh, pillar! it is no use speaking to the princess, she will not utter
one word; and as I must talk to somebody, I have come to you. Tell me
how you have been all this long while?'

'I thank you,' replied a voice from the pillar, 'I am feeling very
well. And it is lucky for me that the princess is silent, or else you
would not have wanted to speak to me. To reward you, I will relate to
you an interesting tale that I lately overheard, and about which I
should like to have your opinion.'

'That will be charming,' answered the prince, 'so pray begin at once.'

'Once upon a time,' said the nightingale, 'there lived a woman who was
so beautiful that every man who saw her fell in love with her. But she
was very hard to please, and refused to wed any of them, though she
managed to keep friends with all. Years passed away in this manner,
almost without her noticing them, and one by one the young men grew
tired of waiting, and sought wives who may have been less handsome,
but were also less proud, and at length only three of her former
wooers remained--Baldschi, Jagdschi, and Firedschi. Still she held
herself apart, thought herself better and lovelier than other women,
when, on a certain evening, her eyes were opened at last to the truth.
She was sitting before her mirror, combing her curls, when amongst her
raven locks she found a long white hair!

'At this dreadful sight her heart gave a jump, and then stood still.

'"I am growing old," she said to herself, "and if I do not choose a
husband soon, I shall never get one! I know that either of those men
would gladly marry me to-morrow, but I cannot decide between them. I
must invent some way to find out which of them is the best, and lose
no time about it."

'So instead of going to sleep, she thought all night long of different
plans, and in the morning she arose and dressed herself.

'"That will have to do," she muttered as she pulled out the white hair
which had cost her so much trouble. "It is not very good, but I can
think of nothing better; and--well, they are none of them clever, and
I dare say they will easily fall into the trap." Then she called her
slave and bade her let Jagdschi know that she would be ready to
receive him in an hour's time. After that she went into the garden and
dug a grave under a tree, by which she laid a white shroud.

'Jagdschi was delighted to get the gracious message; and, putting on
his newest garments, he hastened to the lady's house, but great was
his dismay at finding her stretched on her cushions, weeping bitterly.

'"What is the matter, O Fair One?" he asked, bowing low before her.

'"A terrible thing has happened," said she, her voice choked with
sobs. "My father died two nights ago, and I buried him in my garden.
But now I find that he was a wizard, and was not dead at all, for his
grave is empty and he is wandering about somewhere in the world."

'"That is evil news indeed," answered Jagdschi; "but can I do nothing
to comfort you?"

'"There is one thing you can do," replied she, "and that is to wrap
yourself in the shroud and lay yourself in the grave. If he should not
return till after three hours have elapsed he will have lost his power
over me, and be forced to go and wander elsewhere."

'Now Jagdschi was proud of the trust reposed in him, and wrapping
himself in the shroud, he stretched himself at full length in the
grave. After some time Baldschi arrived in his turn, and found the
lady groaning and lamenting. She told him that her father had been a
wizard, and that in case, as was very likely, he should wish to leave
his grave and come to work her evil, Baldschi was to take a stone and
be ready to crush in his head, if he showed signs of moving.

'Baldschi, enchanted at being able to do his lady a service, picked up
a stone, and seated himself by the side of the grave wherein lay
Jagdschi.

'Meanwhile the hour arrived in which Firedschi was accustomed to pay
his respects, and, as in the case of the other two, he discovered the
lady overcome with grief. To him she said that a wizard who was an
enemy of her father's had thrown the dead man out of his grave, and
had taken his place. "But," she added, "if you can bring the wizard
into my presence, all his power will go from him; if not, then I am
lost."

'"Ah, lady, what is there that I would not do for you!" cried
Firedschi; and running down to the grave, he seized the astonished
Jagdschi by the waist, and flinging the body over his shoulder, he
hastened with him into the house. At the first moment Baldschi was so
surprised at this turn of affairs, for which the lady had not prepared
him, that he sat still and did nothing. But by-and-by he sprang up and
hurled the stone after the two flying figures, hoping that it might
kill them both. Fortunately it touched neither, and soon all three
were in the presence of the lady. Then Jagdschi, thinking that he had
delivered her from the power of the wizard, slid off the back of
Firedschi, and threw the shroud from him.'

'Tell me, my prince,' said the nightingale, when he had finished his
story, 'which of the three men deserved to win the lady? I myself
should choose Firedschi.'

'No, no,' answered the prince, who understood the wink the bird had
given him; 'it was Baldschi who took the most trouble, and it was
certainly he who deserved the lady.'

But the nightingale would not agree; and they began to quarrel, till a
third voice broke in:

'How can you talk such nonsense?' cried the princess--and as she spoke
a sound of tearing was heard. 'Why, you have never even thought of
Jagdschi, who lay for three hours in the grave, with a stone held over
his head! Of course it was _he_ whom the lady chose for her husband!'

       *       *       *       *       *

It was not many minutes before the news reached the sultan; but even
now he would not consent to the marriage till his daughter had spoken
a third time. On hearing this, the young man took counsel with the
nightingale how best to accomplish this, and the bird told him that as
the princess, in her fury at having fallen into the snare laid for
her, had ordered the pillar to be broken in pieces, he must be hidden
in the folds of a curtain that hung by the door.

The following evening the prince entered the palace, and walked boldly
up to the princess's apartments. As he entered the nightingale flew
from under his arm and perched himself on top of the door, where he
was entirely concealed by the folds of the dark curtain. The young man
talked as usual to the princess without obtaining a single word in
reply, and at length he left her lying under the heap of shining
veils--now rent in many places--and crossed the room towards the door,
from which came a voice that gladly answered him.

For a while the two talked together: then the nightingale asked if the
prince was fond of stories, as he had lately heard one which
interested and perplexed him greatly. In reply, the prince begged that
he might hear it at once, and without further delay the nightingale
began:

  [Illustration: 'THE SEVEN VEILS FELL FROM HER']

'Once upon a time, a carpenter, a tailor, and a student set out
together to see the world. After wandering about for some months they
grew tired of travelling, and resolved to stay and rest in a small
town that took their fancy. So they hired a little house, and looked
about for work to do, returning at sunset to smoke their pipes and
talk over the events of the day.

'One night in the middle of summer it was hotter than usual, and the
carpenter found himself unable to sleep. Instead of tossing about on
his cushions, making himself more uncomfortable than he was already,
the man wisely got up and drank some coffee and lit his long pipe.
Suddenly his eye fell on some pieces of wood in a corner and, being
very clever with his fingers, he had soon set up a perfect statue of a
girl about fourteen years old. This so pleased and quieted him that he
grew quite drowsy, and going back to bed fell fast asleep.

'But the carpenter was not the only person who lay awake that night.
Thunder was in the air, and the tailor became so restless that he
thought he would go downstairs and cool his feet in the little
fountain outside the garden door. To reach the door he had to pass
through the room where the carpenter had sat and smoked, and against
the wall he beheld standing a beautiful girl. He stood speechless for
an instant before he ventured to touch her hand, when, to his
amazement, he found that she was fashioned out of wood.

'"Ah! I can make you more beautiful still," said he. And fetching from
a shelf a roll of yellow silk which he had bought that day from a
merchant, he cut and draped and stitched, till at length a lovely robe
clothed the slender figure. When this was finished, the restlessness
had departed from him, and he went back to bed.

'As dawn approached the student arose and prepared to go to the mosque
with the first ray of sunlight. But, when he saw the maiden standing
there, he fell on his knees and lifted his hands in ecstasy.

'"Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air, clad in the beauty of ten
thousand stars," he murmured to himself. "Surely a form so rare was
never meant to live without a soul." And forthwith he prayed with all
his might that life should be breathed into it.

'And his prayer was heard, and the beautiful statue became a living
girl, and the three men all fell in love with her, and each desired to
have her to wife.

'Now,' said the nightingale, 'to which of them did the maiden really
belong? It seems to me that the carpenter had the best right to her.'

'Oh, but the student would never have thought of praying that she
might be given a soul had not the tailor drawn attention to her
loveliness by the robe which he put upon her,' answered the prince,
who guessed what he was expected to say: and they soon set up quite a
pretty quarrel. Suddenly the princess, furious that neither of them
alluded to the part played by the student, quite forgot her vow of
silence and cried loudly:

'Idiots that you are! how could she belong to any one but the student?
If it had not been for him, all that the others did would have gone
for nothing! Of course it was he who married the maiden!' And as she
spoke the seven veils fell from her, and she stood up, the fairest
princess that the world has ever seen.

'You have won me,' she said smiling, holding out her hand to the
prince.

And so they were married: and after the wedding-feast was over they
sent for the old woman whose pitcher the prince had broken so long
ago, and she dwelt in the palace, and became nurse to their children,
and lived happily till she died.

(Adapted from _Türkische Volksmärchen aus Stambul gesammelt, übersetzt
und eingeleitet_ von Dr. Ignaz Künos. Brill, Leiden.)




Transcriber's Note

Punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation has been made
consistent. Archaic spelling is preserved as printed.

The following typographic errors have been amended:

    Page v--geni amended to genii--"... present legends of
    fairies, witches, genii or Djinn, ..."

    Page vi--Antony amended to Anthony--"Anthony Hamilton
    tried his hand with _The Ram_, a story too prolix and
    confused, ..."

    Page 31--Gerthari amended to Grethari--"... it boded ill
    for Geirlaug and Grethari ..." and "... the beds of
    Grethari and Geirlaug were empty."

    Page 125--By-and-bye amended to By-and-by--"By-and-by it
    came to the ears of the Princess Kupti ..."

    Page 187--Centes amended to Contes--"Adapted from
    _Contes Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler, ..."

    Page 233--Louis amended to Frédéric--"From _Contes
    Arméniens_. Par Frédéric Macler."

    Page 260--ancles amended to ankles--"... the
    robber-chief came out of the hole and seized her
    ankles."

    Page 275--Fra amended to From--"From _Eventyr fra
    Gylbauck samlede ..._"

    Page 275--Kri ensen amended to Kristensen--"_... samlede
    og optegnede af Evald Tang Kristensen_."

    Page 336--Brilla amended to Brill--"... von Dr. Ignaz
    Künos. Brill, Leiden."

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