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                           FAIRY TALES FROM

                             ALL NATIONS.



                                  BY

                         ANTHONY R. MONTALBA.



           WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY RICHARD DOYLE.




                               LONDON:

                     CHAPMAN & HALL, 186, STRAND.

                              MDCCCXLIX.

       *       *       *       *       *




TO


THE ILLUSTRIOUS PATRON OF LETTERS

THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL FITZWILLIAM,

This Little Book

IS HUMBLY INSCRIBED,

AS A MARK OF SINCEREST GRATITUDE AND RESPECT,

BY HIS MOST OBEDIENT AND DEVOTED SERVANT,

A. R. MONTALBA.

       *       *       *       *       *




PREFACE.


The time has been, but happily exists no longer, when it would have
been necessary to offer an apology for such a book as this. In those
days it was not held that

    Beauty is its own excuse for being;

on the contrary, a spurious utilitarianism reigned supreme in
literature, and fancy and imagination were told to fold their wings,
and travel only in the dusty paths of every-day life. Fairy tales, and
all such flights into the region of the supernatural, were then
condemned as merely idle things, or as pernicious occupations for
faculties that should be always directed to serious and profitable
concerns. But now we have cast off that pedantic folly, let us hope
for ever. We now acknowledge that innocent amusement is good for its
own sake, and we do not affect to prove our advance in civilisation by
our incapacity to relish those sportive creations of unrestricted
fancy that have been the delight of every generation in every land
from times beyond the reach of history.

The materials of the following Collection have been carefully chosen
from more than a hundred volumes of the fairy lore of all nations; and
none of them, so far as the Editor is aware, have been previously
translated into English.

The Editor cannot close this brief Preface without expressing his
grateful acknowledgments of the enhanced attraction imparted to his
little work by Mr. Richard Doyle's admirable Illustrations.




CONTENTS.


TALE.                          LANGUAGE.           AUTHOR.            PAGE.

BIRTH OF THE FAIRY TALE                                                  1

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSY-RED         _Danish_          TORGEN MOE AND
                                                  P. ASBIÖRNSON          9

THE STORY OF ARGILIUS AND
THE FLAME KING                  _Slavonic_        COUNT MAYLÁTH         20

PERSEVERE AND PROSPER           _Arabic_          DR. G. WEIL           38

PRINCE OF THE GLOW-WORMS        _German_          FRIEDRICH VON SALLET  41

THE TWO MISERS                  _Hebrew_                                71

PRINCE CHAFFINCH                _French_                                73

THE WOLF AND THE NIGHTINGALE    _Swedish_         E. M. ANNDT          105

THE ENCHANTED CROW              _Polish_          K. W. WOYCICKY       132

THE DRAGON-GIANT AND HIS
STONE STEED                     _Russian_         O. L. B. WOLFF       153

THE STORY OF SIVA AND MADHAVA   _Sanskrit_        SOMADEVA BHATTA      185

THE GOBLIN BIRD                 _Betschuanian_    CASALIS              201

THE SHEPHERD AND THE SERPENT    _German_                               209

THE EXPEDITIOUS FROG            _Wendian_         LEOPOLD HAUSST AND
                                                  J. E. SCHMALER       215

EASTWARD OF THE SUN, AND
WESTWARD OF THE MOON            _Norwegian_       P. ASBIÖRNSON        217

THE LITTLE MAN IN GREY          _Upper Lusatian_  MONTZ HAUSST         236

RED, WHITE, AND BLACK           _Norman_          L'HERITIER           243

THE TWELVE LOST PRINCESSES      _African_
AND THE WIZARD KING.                                                   249

THE STUDY OF MAGIC UNDER
DIFFICULTIES                    _Italian_         STRAPPAROLA          268

FORTUNE'S FAVOURITE             _Hungarian_       G. VON GALL          281

THE LUCKY DAYS                  _Italian_         STRAPPAROLA          309

THE FEAST OF THE DWARFS         _Icelandish_                           313

THE THREE DOGS                  _Frieslandish_    L. BECKSTEIN         329

THE COURAGEOUS FLUTE-PLAYER     _Franconian_                           339

THE GLASS HATCHET               _Hungarian_       G. VON GALL          345

THE GOLDEN DUCK                 _Bohemian_        WOLFGARD A. GERLE    360

GOLDY                           _German_          JUSTINUS KERNER      377

THE SERPENT PRINCE              _Italian_         BASILE               384

THE PROPHETIC DREAM                                                    398


The Illustrations drawn by RICHARD DOYLE, and engraved by G. DALZIEL,
E. DALZIEL, ISABEL THOMPSON, C. T. THOMPSON, RICHARD THOMPSON, and W.
T. GREEN.




FAIRY TALES FROM ALL NATIONS




THE BIRTH OF THE FAIRY TALE.


[Illustration]

When nursery tales and entertaining stories did not yet exist--and
those were dull times for children, for then their youthful paradise
wanted its gayest butterfly--there lived two royal children, a brother
and sister. They played with each other in a garden allotted to them
by their royal sire. This garden was full of the most beautiful and
fragrant flowers; its paths were over-spread with golden sands and
many-coloured stones, which vied in brilliancy with the dew which
glistened on the flowers, illuminated by the splendour of an eastern
sun. There were in it cool grottos with rippling streams; fountains
spouting high towards heaven; exquisitely chiselled marble statues;
lovely arbours and bowers inviting to repose; gold and silver fish
swam in the reservoirs, and the most beautiful birds flitted about in
gilded cages so spacious that they scarcely felt that they were
confined, whilst others at full liberty flew from tree to tree,
filling the air with their sweet song. Yet the children who possessed
all these delights, and saw them daily, were satiated with them and
felt weary. They looked without pleasure on the brilliancy of the
stones; the fragrance of the flowers and the dancing water of the
fountains no longer attracted them; they cared not for the fish which
were mute to them, nor for the birds whose warbling they did not
comprehend. They sat mournful and listless beside each other; having
everything that children could desire--kind parents, costly toys, the
richest clothing, every delicacy the land could furnish, with liberty
to roam from morning until evening in the beautiful garden,--still
they were unsatisfied and they knew not why!--they could not tell what
else they wanted.

Then came to them the queen, their mother, beautiful and majestic,
with a countenance expressive of love and gentleness. She grieved to
see her children so mournful, meeting her with melancholy smiles,
instead of gaily bounding to her embrace. Her heart was sorrowful
because her children were not happy as she thought they ought to be,
for as yet they knew not care; and, thanks to an all-good Providence,
the heaven of childhood is usually bright and cloudless.

The queen placed herself between her two children. She threw her full
white arms round their necks, and said to them with endearing maternal
tenderness, "What ails you, my beloved children?"--"We know not, dear
mother!" replied the boy.--"We do not feel happy!" said the girl.

"Yet everything is fair in this garden, and you have everything that
can give you pleasure. Do all these things then afford you no
enjoyment?" demanded the queen, whilst tears filled her eyes, through
which beamed a soul of goodness.

"What we have and enjoy seems not to be the one thing which we want,"
answered the girl.--"We wish for something else, but we know not what
it is," added the boy.

The queen sat silent and sad, pondering what that might be for which
her children pined. What could possibly afford them greater pleasure
than that splendid garden, the richness of their clothing, the variety
of their toys, the delicacy of their food, the flavour of their
beverage? But in vain; she could not divine the unknown object of
their desire.

"Oh, that I myself were again a child!" said the queen to herself with
a deep sigh. "I should then perhaps discover what would impart
cheerfulness to my children. To comprehend the wish of a child, one
should be a child oneself. But I have already wandered too far beyond
the boundaries of childhood where fly the golden birds of paradise;
those beautiful birds without feet, that never require the repose of
which all earthly creatures stand in need. Oh, that such a bird would
come to my assistance, and bring to my dear children that precious
gift which should dispel their gloom and make them happy!"

And, behold, the queen had scarcely formed this wish, when a
wondrously beautiful bird, whose splendour surpassed all that can be
imagined, bent its flight from the ethereal sky, and wheeled round and
round until it attracted the gaze of the queen and her children, who
on beholding it were filled with astonishment, and with one voice
exclaimed: "Oh, how wonderful is that bird!" And wonderful indeed it
was, and gorgeous to behold as it gradually descended towards them.
Like burnished gold blended with sparkling jewels shone its plumage,
reflecting the seven colours of the rainbow, and dazzling the eye
which it still rivetted anew by its indescribable charms. Beautiful as
it was, the aspect of the bird inspired them with a kind of awe,
which, though not unpleasing, increased when they felt the wafting of
its wings, and suddenly beheld it rest in the lap of the queen. It
looked on them with its full eyes, which, though they resembled the
friendly smiling eyes of a child, had yet in them something strange
and almost unearthly; an expression the children could not comprehend,
and therefore feared to consider. They now observed also, that mingled
with the bright coloured plumage of this unearthly bird, were some
black feathers which they had not before perceived. But scarcely was a
moment permitted to them for these observations, ere the wonder-bird
again arose, soared aloft higher and higher till it was lost to the
sight in the blue and cloudless ether. The queen and her children
watched its flight in amazement until it had entirely vanished, and
when they again looked down, lo, a new wonder! The bird had deposited
in the mother's lap an egg which beamed like the precious opal with
many-coloured brilliancy. With one voice, the royal children
exclaimed: "Oh, the beautiful egg!" whilst the mother smiled in an
ecstasy of joy; for a voice within her predicted to her that this was
the jewel which alone was wanting to complete the happiness of her
children. This egg, she thought, within its thousand-coloured shell,
must contain the treasure that would ensure to her children that which
has ever been, and ever will be withheld from age--Contentment;--the
longing for that treasure and the anticipation of it would charm away
their childish melancholy.

The children could not gaze their fill on the splendid egg, and soon
in admiring it, forgot the bird that had bestowed it on them. At first
they hardly ventured to touch their treasure, but after a while, the
maiden first took courage to lay upon it one of her rosy fingers,
exclaiming whilst a purple blush of delight over-spread her innocent
face: "The egg is warm!" then the royal youth, to try the truth of his
sister's words, cautiously touched it also, and lastly the mother
placed her beautifully white and taper finger on the costly egg,
which then separated into two parts, and there came out from it a
being most marvellous to behold. It had wings, and yet it was no bird,
nor yet butterfly nor bee, though it was a combination of all these
infinitely and indescribably blended. It was in short, that multiform
many-coloured childish Ideal, the _Fairy Tale_, dispensing pleasure,
and happiness, and inspiration to infancy and youth. The mother
thenceforth no longer beheld her children pining with melancholy, for
the Fairy Tale became their constant companion, and remained with them
till the sun which shone on their last day of childhood had set. The
possession of this wondrous being from that day endeared to them
garden and flowers, bowers and grottos, forests and valleys; for it
gave new life and charms to all around them. Borne on its wings they
flew far and wide through the great measureless world, and yet, ever
at their wish, they were in a moment wafted back to their own home.

Those royal children were mankind in their youthful paradise, and
nature was their lovely serene and mild mother. Their wishes drew down
from heaven the wonder-bird, PHANTASY, most brilliant of plumage
although intermingled with its feathers, were some of the deepest
black: the egg deposited by this bright bird, contained the GOLDEN
FAIRY TALES: and as the affection of the children for Fairy Lore grew
stronger from day to day, enlivening and making happy the time of
their childhood, the stories themselves wandered forth, and were
welcomed alike in hall and palace, castle and cottage, ever growing in
charms and novelty, till they at length received the mission of
pleasing manhood also. The grave, the toil-worn, and the aged, would
listen with pleased ear to their wonderful relations, and dwell with
fond recollection on the golden birth of those Fairy charms.




SNOW-WHITE AND ROSY-RED.

[Danish.]


In a far-distant land, there reigned a queen, who was one day driving
in a sledge over the new fallen snow, when, as it chanced, she was
seized with a bleeding at her nose, which obliged her to alight. As
she stood leaning against the stump of a tree, and gazed on her
crimson blood that fell on the snow, she thought to herself, "I have
now twelve sons, and not one daughter; could I but have a daughter
fair as that snow and rosy as that blood, I should no longer care
about my sons." She had scarcely murmured the wish, before a sorceress
stood beside her. "Thou shalt have a daughter," said she, "and she
shall be fair as this snow and rosy as thy blood; but thy twelve sons
shall then be mine; thou may'st, however, retain them with thee, until
thy daughter shall be baptized."

Now, at the appointed time the queen brought into the world a
daughter, who was fair as snow and rosy as blood, just as the
sorceress had promised, and on that account she was called Snow-white
and Rosy-red; and there was great joy throughout all the royal
household, but the queen rejoiced more than all the rest. But when she
remembered her promise to the sorceress, a strange sensation oppressed
her heart, and she sent for a silversmith, and commanded him to make
twelve silver spoons, one for each of the princes; she had one made
for the princess also. On the day that the princess was baptized, the
twelve princes were transformed into twelve wild ducks, and flew away,
and were no more seen. The princess, however, grew up, and became
wonderfully beautiful; but she was always wrapped in her own thoughts,
and so melancholy, that no one could guess what was the matter with
her.

One evening, when the queen was also in a very melancholy mood,
thinking on her lost sons, she said to Snow-white and Rosy-red, "Why
are you always so sad, my daughter? If there is anything the matter
with you, tell it me. If there is anything you wish for, you shall
have it."

"Oh, dear mother," she replied, "all around me seems so desolate;
other children have brothers and sisters, but I have none, and that is
why I am so sad."

"My daughter," said the queen, "you also once had brothers, for I had
twelve sons, but I gave them all up in order to have you;" and
thereupon she related to her all that had occurred.

When the princess heard what had befallen her brothers, she could no
longer remain at home in peace, and notwithstanding all her mother's
tears and entreaties, nothing would satisfy her but she must and would
set off in search of her brothers, for she thought that she alone was
guilty of causing their misfortune; so she secretly left the palace.
She wandered about the world, and went so far that you would not
believe it possible that such a delicate maiden could have gone to
such a distance. Once she strayed about a whole night in a great
forest, and towards the morning she was so tired that she lay down on
a bank and slept. Then she dreamed that she penetrated still farther
into the forest, till she came to a little wooden hut, and therein she
found her brothers. When she awoke, she saw before her a little beaten
path through the moss, and she followed it till in the thickest of the
forest she saw a little wooden hut, just like that she had dreamed
of.

She entered it, but saw no one. There were, however, twelve beds and
twelve chairs, and on the table lay twelve spoons, and, in fact, there
were twelve of every article she saw there. The princess was
overjoyed, for she could not but fancy that her twelve brethren dwelt
there, and that it was to them that the beds, and the chairs, and the
spoons belonged. Then she made a fire on the hearth, swept the room,
and made the beds; afterwards she cooked a meal for them, and set
everything out in the best order possible. And when she had finished
her cooking and had prepared everything for her brothers, she sat down
and ate something for herself, laid her spoon on the table, and crept
under the bed belonging to her youngest brother.

She had scarcely concealed herself there, when she heard a great
rustling in the air, and presently in flew twelve wild ducks; but the
moment they crossed the threshold, they were instantly transformed
into the princes, her brothers!

"Ah, how nicely everything is arranged here, and how delightfully warm
it is already," they exclaimed.

"Heaven reward the person who has warmed our room so nicely, and
prepared such an excellent repast for us;" and hereupon each took his
silver spoon in order to begin eating. But when each prince had taken
his own, there was still one remaining, so like the others that they
could not distinguish it. Then the princes looked at each other, and
were very much astonished.

"That must be our sister's spoon," said they; "and since the spoon is
here, she herself cannot be far off."

"If it is our sister, and if she is here," said the eldest, "she shall
be killed, for she is the cause of our misfortune."

"Nay," said the youngest, "it would be a sin to kill her; she is not
guilty of what we suffer; if any one is in fault, it is no other than
our own mother."

Then they all began to search high and low, and at last they looked
under all the beds, and when they came to the bed of the youngest
prince, they found the princess, and drew her from under it.

The eldest prince was now again for killing her, but she entreated
them earnestly to spare her life, and said, "Ah, do not kill me; I
have wandered about so long seeking for you, and I would willingly
give my life if that would disenchant you."

"Nay, but if you will disenchant us," said they, "we will spare your
life; for you can do it if you will."

"Indeed; only tell me then what I am to do, for I will do anything you
wish," said the princess.

"You must collect the down of the dandelion flowers, and you must
card, and spin, and weave it; and of that material you must cut out
and make twelve caps, and twelve shirts, and twelve cravats, a set for
each of us; but during the time that you are occupied in doing so, you
must neither speak, nor weep, nor smile. If you can do that, we shall
be disenchanted."

"But where shall I be able to find sufficient down for all the caps,
and shirts, and cravats?" asked she.

"That you shall soon see," said the princes; and then they led her out
into a great meadow, where were so many dandelions with their white
down waving in the wind and glittering in the sun, that the glitter of
them could be seen at a very great distance. The princess had never in
all her life seen so many dandelions, and she began directly to pluck
and collect them, and she brought home as many as she could carry; and
in the evening she began to card and spin them into yarn. Thus she
continued doing for a very long time; every day she gathered the down
from the dandelions, and she attended on the princes also; she cooked
for them, and made their beds; and every evening they flew home as
wild ducks, became princes again during the night, and in the morning
flew away again, as wild ducks.

Now it happened one day when Snow-white and Rosy-red had gone to the
meadow to collect the dandelion-down--if I do not mistake, that was
the last time that she required to collect them--that the young king
of the country was hunting, and rode towards the meadow where
Snow-white and Rosy-red was collecting her material. The king was
astonished to see such a beautiful maiden walking there, and gathering
the dandelion-down. He stopped his horse and addressed her; but when
he could get no answer from her, he was still more astonished, and as
the maiden pleased him so well, he resolved to carry her to his royal
residence, and make her his wife. He commanded his attendants,
therefore, to lift her upon his horse; but Snow-white and Rosy-red
wrung her hands, and pointed to the bag wherein she had her work. So
the king understood at last what she meant, and bade his attendants
put the bag also on his horse. That being done, the princess, by
degrees, yielded to his wish that she should go with him, for the king
was a very handsome man, and spoke so gently, and kindly, to her. But
when they arrived at the palace, and the old queen, who was the
king's step-mother, saw how beautiful Snow-white and Rosy-red was, she
became quite jealous and angry; and she said to the king:--"Do you not
see, then, that you have brought home a sorceress with you? for she
can neither speak, nor laugh, nor cry." The king, however, heeded not
his step-mother's words, but celebrated his nuptials with the fair
maiden, and lived very happily with her. She, however, did not cease
to work continually at the shirts.

Before the year was out, Snow-white and Rosy-red brought a little
prince into the world. This made the old queen still more envious and
spiteful than before; and when night came, she slipped into the
queen's room, and whilst she slept, carried off the infant, and threw
it into a pit which was full of snakes. Then she returned, made an
incision in one of the queen's fingers, and having smeared her mouth
with the blood, she went to the king, and said:--"Come now, and see
what sort of a wife you have got; she has just devoured her own
child." Thereupon the king was so distressed that he very nearly shed
tears, and said:--"Yes, it must be true, since I see it with my own
eyes; but she surely will not do so again; this time I will spare
her." Before the year was out the queen brought into the world
another prince, and the same occurred this time, as before. The
step-mother was still more jealous and spiteful; she again slipped
into the young queen's room, during the night, and, whilst she slept,
carried off the babe, and threw it into the pit to the serpents. Then
she made an incision in the queen's finger, smeared her lips with the
blood, and told the king that his wife had again devoured her own
child. The king's distress was greater than can be imagined, and he
said:--"Yes, it must be so, since I see it with my own eyes; but
surely she will never do so again; I will spare her this once more."

Before that year was out, Snow-white and Rosy-red brought a daughter
into the world, and this also the old queen threw into the serpent
hole, as she had done the others, made an incision in the young
queen's finger, smeared her lips with the blood, and then again said
to the king: "Come and see if I do not say truly, she is a sorceress:
for she has now devoured her third child," Then the king was more
distressed than can be described, for he could no longer spare her,
but was obliged to command that she should be burnt alive. Now when
the pile of faggots was blazing, and the young queen was to ascend,
she made signs that twelve boards should be laid round the pile. This
being done she placed on them, the shirts, caps, and cravats, she had
made for her brothers; but the left sleeve of the youngest brother's
shirt was wanting, for she had not been able to finish it. No sooner
had she done this than a great rustling and fluttering was heard in
the air, and twelve wild ducks came flying from the wood, and each
took a shirt, cap, and cravat in his beak, and flew off with them.

"Are you convinced now that she is a sorceress?" said the wicked
step-mother to the king: "make haste and have her burnt before the
flames consume all the wood."

"There is no need of such haste," said the king; "we have plenty more
wood, and I am very desirous to see what will be the end of all this."

At that moment came the twelve princes riding up, all as handsome and
graceful as possible, only the youngest prince, instead of a left arm,
had a duck's wing.

"What are you going to do?" asked the princes.

"My wife is going to be burnt," said the king, "because she is a
sorceress, and has devoured her children."

"That has she not," said the princes. "Speak now, sister! You have
delivered us, now save yourself."

[Illustration: SNOW-WHITE AND ROSY-RED. P. 19.]

Then Snow-white and Rosy-red spoke, and related all that had happened,
and that each time she had a child, the old queen had slipped into the
room, taken the child, and then made an incision in her finger, and
smeared the blood upon her lips. And the princes led the king to the
serpent hole, and there lay the children, playing with the serpents
and adders, and finer children than these could not be seen. Then the
king carried them with him to his step-mother, and asked her what the
person deserved who had desired to betray an innocent queen, and three
such lovely children.

"To be torn in pieces by twelve wild horses," said the old queen.

"You have pronounced your own doom, and shall suffer the punishment,"
said the king, and forthwith the old queen was tied to twelve wild
horses, and torn to pieces. But Snow-white and Rosy-red set off with
the king, her husband, and her three children, and her twelve
brothers, and went home to her parents, and told them all that had
happened to her; and there were rejoicings throughout the kingdom,
because the princess was saved, and that she had disenchanted her
twelve brothers.




THE STORY OF ARGILIUS AND THE FLAME-KING.

[Slavonic]


In a certain distant land once reigned a king and queen, who had three
daughters and one son. As the king and queen were talking one day
together about family matters, the king said to his consort: "Whenever
our daughters happen to marry we shall be obliged to give to each of
their husbands a portion of our kingdom, which will thereby be greatly
diminished; I think therefore that we cannot do better than marry them
all three to our son, and so the kingdom will remain entire. In
another eight days, harvest will be over, and then we will celebrate
the nuptials."

The son overheard this discourse, and thought within himself, "that
shall never come to pass."

Now the king and queen having gone to a distant farm to superintend
the reapers, some one approached the window, knocked at it, and said
to the prince: "Little prince, I am come to marry your eldest sister."

The young prince replied: "Wait a moment, you shall have her
directly." He called his eldest sister, and as soon as she entered the
room, he caught her in his arms, and threw her out of the window. She
did not, however, fall to the ground, but on a golden bridge, which
was very, very long, in fact it reached to the sun. Her unknown lover
took her by the hand, and led her along the golden bridge to his
kingdom in the centre of the sun, for this unknown happened to be the
Sun-king.

About noon some one else knocked at the window and said, as the former
had done: "Little prince, I want to marry your second sister."

The little prince replied: "Wait a moment, you shall have her
directly." He went into his second sister's apartment, lifted her up,
and threw her out of the window. She did not fall to the ground
either, but into a chariot in the air. Four horses, which never ceased
snorting and prancing, were harnessed to it. The unknown placed
himself in the chariot, and as he brandished the whip, the clouds
spread themselves out so as to form a road, the rolling of the
chariot wheels was like a storm, and they disappeared in an instant.
The unknown was the Wind-king.

The little prince was right glad to think that he had already
established two sisters, and when toward evening some one else knocked
at the window, he said: "You need not speak, I know what you want:"
and out he threw his youngest sister. She fell into a silvery stream.
The unknown took her by the arm, and the waves bore her gently to the
moon, for her lover was no other than the Moon-king. The young prince
then went well pleased to bed.

When the king and queen returned the next day they were very much
surprised at hearing what their son had done; but as they had got
three such powerful sons-in-law, as the kings of the Sun, Wind, and
Moon, they were well satisfied, and said to the young prince: "See how
grand your sisters are become through their husbands. You must try
also to find some powerful queen to be your wife."

The prince answered: "I have already fixed on one Kavadiska, and no
other shall be my wife."

The king and queen were quite shocked at this audacious speech, and
endeavoured to dissuade him from the thought by all kinds of rational
arguments; as, however, they in no wise succeeded, they at length
said: "Well, then go forth, my son, and may Heaven guide thee in thy
rash enterprise."

The old king then took two bottles from his chest and gave them to his
son, with these words: "See, my son, this bottle contains the water of
life, and this the water of death. If thou sprinkle a corpse with the
water of life it will be restored to life, but if thou sprinkle a
living being with this water of death, it will immediately die. Take
these bottles, they are my greatest treasure; perhaps they may be
serviceable to thee." Now all the courtiers began to weep excessively,
especially the ladies, who were all very partial to the prince. He,
however, was very cheerful and full of hope, kissed the hands of his
royal parents, placed the bottles about his person, that of life on
the right side, and that of death on the left, girded on his sword,
and departed.

He had already wandered far when he reached a valley which was full of
slain men. The young prince took his bottle of the water of life and
sprinkled some in the eyes of one of the dead, who immediately rose
up, rubbed his eyes, and said: "Ha! how long I have been sleeping."
The king's son asked him, "What has taken place here?" to which the
dead man replied: "Yesterday we fought against Kavadiska and she cut
us all to pieces." The king's son said: "Since you were so weak as not
to be able to defend yourselves against a woman, you do not deserve to
live;" and then he sprinkled him with the water of death, on which the
man fell down again, dead, amongst the other corpses.

In the next valley lay a whole army in the same condition; the prince
again re-animated one of the dead, and inquired: "Did you also fight
against Kavadiska?" "Yes," returned the dead. "Why did you make war
upon her?" resumed the prince. "Know'st thou not," rejoined the dead,
"that our king desires to marry her, but that she will have no one for
her husband, but him who shall conquer her? We went out against her
with three armies: yesterday she destroyed one; this morning at
sunrise the second; and she is at this moment fighting against the
third?" The prince sprinkled the speaker with the water of death, and
immediately he also fell to the ground.

In the third valley lay the third host. The re-animated warrior said:
"The fight is only just now ended; Kavadiska has slain us all." "Where
shall I find her?" asked the prince. "Her castle is on the other side
of that mountain," replied the warrior, and sank down again as soon as
the prince sprinkled him.

Argilius--so was the prince called--crossed the mountain and came to
Kavadiska's castle. He entered. No one was within. In Kavadiska's
chamber hung a sword, which ceased not to spring out of its sheath and
then in again. "Ho, ho, since thou art so restless," thought Argilius,
"I will take possession of thee. Thou pleasest me better than my own
sword, which never stirs unless I wield it." So he took off his own
sword and exchanged it for the other. He had scarcely done so, when
Kavadiska suddenly stood before him. "Thou darest to intrude into my
castle?" exclaimed she; "draw then, thou must fight me." She snatched
the sword from the wall. Argilius drew the blade for which he had just
exchanged his own. They began to fight, but the first time their
swords crossed Kavadiska's broke off in the middle. Then she said
joyfully: "Thou art my bridegroom!" and fell on his neck, and kissed
and caressed him, and forthwith became his wife.

After they had lived some time happily together, Kavadiska said one
morning: "Beloved husband, I must leave thee for a short time. It is
the first and last time I shall ever separate from thee. In seven
times seven days I shall return, and thenceforth our life shall flow
on in uninterrupted happiness. Everything in the castle is at thy
command, only do not enter the furthest room; great misfortunes may
befall us if you do." Having said these words she vanished.

The time passed very heavily for Argilius after his wife had left him;
he wandered through the whole castle, till at last he came to the
furthest chamber. Being young and thoughtless he opened it. He saw
therein an old man, whose beard was fire; this was the Flame-king
Holofernes, but Argilius did not know who he was. The old man had
three iron hoops round his body, which bound him fast to the wall.

"Hail to thee, young man," said he; "see, my beard is flame; I am very
hot, give me a goblet of wine." Now, as Argilius was very kindly
disposed, he gave him a goblet; and as soon as he had drunk it, one of
the hoops round his body gave way. He chuckled and said: "Thou hast
greatly relieved me; give me now another goblet." Argilius did so, and
when the Flame-king had emptied that, another hoop gave way. He
chuckled again and said: "Twice hast thou given me wine, now give me
a goblet of water." And when Argilius had done as he was requested,
the third hoop sprang off, and the Flame-king disappeared.

Kavadiska had not performed half of her journey before Holofernes
stood by her side. He addressed her, and his beard waved in anger:
"Thou hast rejected me for thy husband, thou hast slain three of my
armies, thou hast detained me in prison: now thou art in my power; and
now not my wife, but the lowest of my servants shalt thou be." Since
her marriage with Argilius, Kavadiska had lost all her power,
therefore her resistance was in vain. In three leaps the Flame-king
had already borne her to his realm.

Seven times seven days passed, and Kavadiska did not return. Then
Argilius became very uneasy, and he resolved to go and see his three
brothers-in-law, and inquire if they could give him any information
where Kavadiska was. He arrived first at the Sun-king's palace, who
was just then coming home.

"Welcome, little brother-in-law," began he.

"Ah! dear brother-in-law," said Argilius, "I am in search of my wife
Kavadiska; know'st thou not where she is? Hast thou not seen her?"

"No," rejoined the Sun-king, "I have not seen her. Perhaps she is only
visible by night, and in that case thou must inquire of our
brother-in-law the Moon-king."

They then took refreshments together, and sat till night came on, when
Argilius went on to the Moon-king. He reached his palace just as the
Moon-king was about to begin his night wandering, and Argilius having
told what he wanted, the Moon-king replied:--

"I have not seen her; but come, join me in my nightly pilgrimage,
perhaps we shall discover her." They wandered all night, but did not
get sight of her. Then said the Moon-king:--

"It is now time for me to go home; but yonder comes our brother-in-law
the Wind-king; speak to him; he drives about everywhere, perhaps he
may have seen her."

The Wind-king stood beside them, and when he heard his little
brother-in-law's business, he said:--

"Assuredly I know where she is. The Flame-king, Holofernes, has got
her imprisoned in a subterranean cavern, and she is obliged to wash
all his kitchen utensils in the fiery stream, and as this makes her
very hot, I often waft a cooling breeze upon her."

"I thank thee, dear brother-in-law, for having given her some relief;
pray carry me to her," said Argilius.

"Right willingly," rejoined the Wind-king: so he gave a great puff,
and he and Argilius, together with the horse of the latter, stood the
next moment in the presence of his Kavadiska. Her joy was so great
that she let all the kitchen utensils fall into the fiery stream; but
Argilius, without stopping to talk much, lifted her on his horse and
rode off.

The Flame-king was at that time in his own apartment; he heard an
extraordinary noise in the stable, and on going into it he found his
horse Taigarot prancing, neighing, biting the manger, and pawing the
ground. Taigarot was a very peculiar kind of horse; he understood
human language, and could even speak, and he had nine feet!

"What mad tricks are you playing?" cried Holofernes; "have you not had
enough hay and oats, or have they not given you drink?"

"Oats and hay I have had in plenty," said Taigarot, "and drink, too;
but they have carried off Kavadiska from you."

The Flame-king shivered with rage.

"Be calm," said Taigarot; "you may even eat, drink, and sleep, for in
three bounds I will overtake her."

Holofernes did as his horse bade him, and when he had sufficiently
rested and refreshed himself, he mounted Taigarot, and in three bounds
overtook Argilius. He tore Kavadiska from his arms and cried out, as
he was springing home again:--

"Because you set me at liberty, I do not kill thee this time; but if
thou returnest once again, thou art lost."

Argilius went back very melancholy to his three brothers-in-law, and
related what had happened. They took counsel together, and then
said:--

"Thou must find a horse which is still swifter of foot than Taigarot;
there is, however, but one such horse existing, and he is Taigarot's
younger brother. It is true he has only four feet, but still he is
decidedly swifter than Taigarot."

"Where shall I find this horse?" inquired Argilius.

The brothers-in-law replied:--

"The witch Iron-nose keeps the horse concealed under-ground; go to
her, enter into her service, and demand the horse in lieu of other
wages."

"Carry me thither, dear brothers-in-law," said Argilius.

"Immediately," said the Sun-king; "but first accept this gift from thy
brothers-in-law, who love thee dearly."

With these words he gave him a little staff, which was half gold and
half silver, and which never ceased vibrating. It was made of
sunshine, moonshine, and wind.

"Whenever thou standest in need of us, stick this staff in the ground,
and immediately we shall be by thy side."

Then the Sun-king took his little brother-in-law on one of his beams,
and carried him for one day; then the Moon-king did the same for a
whole night, and finally the Wind-king carried him for a whole day and
a whole night too, and by that time he reached the palace of the witch
Iron-nose.

The palace of the witch was constructed entirely of deaths'-heads; one
only was wanting to complete the building. When the old woman heard a
knocking at her gate, she looked out of the window, and rejoiced: "At
last another!" exclaimed she, "I have waited three hundred years in
vain for this death's-head to complete my magnificent edifice: come
in, my good youth!"

Argilius entered, and was a little startled when he first beheld the
old woman, for she was very tall, very ugly, and her nose was of iron.

"I should like to enter your service," were his words.

"Well," replied she, "what wages do you ask?"

"The horse which you keep under-ground."

"You shall have him if you serve faithfully; if you fail however once
only, you shall be put to death."

"Very well."

"With me,"--these were witch Iron-nose's last words,--"with me the
year's service consists of only three days; you may begin your service
at once. You will attend to my stud in the meadow, and if in the
evening a single one is missing, you die."

She then led him to the stable. The horses were all of metal, neighed
terribly, and made the most surprising leaps.

"Attend to your business," said Iron-nose, and then locked herself in
her apartment. Argilius opened the covered enclosure, threw himself on
one of the metal horses and rushed out with the whole troop. They were
no sooner on the meadow, when the horse on which he rode threw him
into a deep morass, where he sank up to the breast. The whole troop
scattered themselves here and there, when Argilius stuck the little
staff his brothers-in-law had given him into the ground, and at once
the sun's rays struck with such heat on the morass, that it dried up
instantly, and the metal horses began to melt, and ran terrified back
to the shed. The witch was very much surprised when she saw they were
all driven in again. "To-morrow you must tend my twelve coursers,"
said she; "if you are not home again with the last rays of the sun,
you die: they are more difficult to manage than the metal horses."

"Do your duty," said Argilius, "I shall do mine."

The twelve coursers soon ran all different ways. Argilius set his
staff in the ground, and a fearful storm arose. The wind blew against
every horse, and let them rear and prance as they would, the wind got
the better of them, and they were all obliged to return to their
stable. Argilius immediately shut the stable door, and at that moment
the last rays of the sun went down just as Witch Iron-nose reached the
stable. She was quite astonished when she saw the horses and Argilius.

"If you do your work well this night, to-morrow you shall be free. Go
and milk the metal mares, and prepare a bath of the milk, which must
be ready with the first rays of the sun."

[Illustration]

Argilius went to the metal shed, and as he had a misgiving that this
would prove the hardest task of all, he was about to set his staff in
the ground, when he was met by his brother-in-law, the Moon-king.

"I was seeking thee," said he. "I know already what thou needest.
Where my light shines, just by the metallic horses' shed, dig about
three spans deep, and thou wilt find a golden bridle, which, whilst
thou holdest in thy hand, will cause all the mares to obey thee."

Argilius did as he was desired, and all the metallic mares stood quite
still and suffered themselves to be milked. In the morning the bath
was ready, the smoke and steam rose up from the milk, which now
boiled. Witch Iron-nose said: "Place thyself in it."

"If I stand this trial," replied Argilius, "I shall ride away
immediately after; let the horse therefore be brought out for the
possession of which I bargained."

The horse instantly stood by the bath. It was small, ill-looking, and
dirty. As Argilius approached to enter the bath, the horse put his
head into the milk, and sucked out all the fire, so that Argilius
remained unhurt in it, and when he came out he was seven times
handsomer than before. Witch Iron-nose was much charmed by his
appearance, and thought within herself: "Now I in like manner will
make myself seven times handsomer than I am, and then I will marry
this youth."

She sprang into the bath. The horse, however, again put his head into
the milk, and blew back into it the fire he had previously sucked out,
and Witch Iron-nose was immediately scalded to death.

Argilius sprang on his horse and rode away. When they had got beyond
the Witch's domain, the horse said: "Wash me in this stream."

Argilius did so, and the horse became the colour of gold, and to each
hair hung a little golden bell. The horse at one leap cleared the sea,
and carried his master to the cave of the Flame-king. Kavadiska was
again standing by the side of the fiery stream, washing the kitchen
utensils.

"Come," cried Argilius, "I will rescue thee,"

"Ah!" exclaimed she, "Holofernes will slay thee if he overtakes thee."

Argilius had, however, already lifted her on his horse and ridden off.
Taigarot again set up a wonderful noise in his stable.

"What's the matter?" cried the Flame-king.

"Kavadiska has escaped," replied Taigarot.

"Well then, I will again eat, drink and sleep; in three bounds thou
wilt overtake her as before," said Holofernes.

"Not so," rejoined Taigarot, "mount me directly, and even then we
shall not overtake them. Argilius rides my younger brother, and he is
the swiftest horse in the whole world."

Holofernes buckled on his fire-spurs, and flew after the fugitives. It
is true, he got sight of them, but he could not come up with them.
Then the horse of Argilius turning back his head called out: "Why dost
thou let those fiery spurs be stuck in thy side, brother? They will
burn thy entrails, they are so long; and yet thou wilt never come up
with me. It would be much better that we should both serve one
master."

Taigarot perceived this, and the next time Holofernes stuck the spurs
in him, he threw the Flame-king. As they were very high up in the air,
(in fact, they were as high as the stars), Holofernes fell to the
ground with such force, that he broke his neck. As for Argilius, he
brought Kavadiska back to her castle, where they again celebrated
their nuptials, lived very happy; and, if they have not died since,
they live there to this very day.




PERSEVERE AND PROSPER.

[Arabic.]


"_He that seeketh shall find, and to him that knocketh shall be
opened_," says an old Arab proverb. "I will try that," said a youth
one day. To carry out his intentions he journeyed to Bagdad, where he
presented himself before the Vizier. "Lord!" said he, "for many years
I have lived a quiet and solitary life, the monotony of which wearies
me. I have never permitted myself earnestly to will anything. But as
my teacher daily repeated to me, '_He that seeketh shall find, and to
him that knocketh shall be opened_,' so have I now come to the
resolution with might and heart to _will_, and the resolution of my
_will_ is nothing less than to have the Caliph's daughter for my
wife."

The Vizier thought the poor man was mad, and told him to call again
some other time.

Perseveringly he daily returned, and never felt disconcerted at the
same often-repeated answer. One day, the Caliph called on the Vizier,
just as the youth was delivering his statement.

Full of astonishment the Caliph listened to the strange demand, and
being in no peculiar humour for having the poor youth's head taken
off, but on the contrary, rather inclined for pleasantry, his
Mightiness condescendingly said: "For the great, the wise, or the
brave, to request a princess for wife, is a moderate demand; but what
are your claims? To be the possessor of my daughter you must
distinguish yourself by one of these attributes, or else by some great
undertaking. Ages ago a carbuncle of inestimable value was lost in the
Tigris; he who finds it shall have the hand of my daughter."

The youth, satisfied with the promise of the Caliph, went to the
shores of the Tigris. With a small vessel he every morning went to the
river, scooping out the water and throwing it on the land; and after
having for hours thus employed himself, he knelt down and prayed. The
fishes became at last uneasy at his perseverance; and being fearful
that, in course of time, he might exhaust the waters, they assembled
in great council.

"What is the purpose of this man?" demanded the monarch of the fishes.

"The possession of the carbuncle that lies buried in the sluice of the
Tigris," was the reply.

"I advise you, then," said the aged monarch, "to give it up to him;
for if he has the steady will, and has positively resolved to find it,
he will drain the last drop of water from the Tigris, rather than
deviate a hair's breadth from his purpose."

The fishes, out of fear, threw the carbuncle into the vessel of the
youth; and the latter, as a reward, received the daughter of the
Caliph for his wife.

"He who earnestly _wills_, can do _much_!"




THE PRINCE OF THE GLOW-WORMS.

[German.]


"No! I'll bear it no longer, you good-for-nothing vagabond!" screamed
the old woman to little Julius. "When you should be sitting with your
book in your hand trying to learn somewhat, if I do but turn my back
off goes the dunce to the wood, and stays there for whole days,
frightening me out of my wits! What business have you in the wood,
pray? You ought to stay at home and learn your book or help me in my
work. And then you let one have no peace by night either. What's the
use of my telling you ten times over all the stories I know about the
black man and the grim wolf? You godless child you! You care for none
of the things that frighten good pious children almost to death; but
in the dead of the night off you go into the dark forest, through
hedges and brambles, making me fine work to wash and patch your
clothes. This is the last day I'll put up with it. The very next time
I'll turn you out of doors; and then you may go far enough before
you'll find anybody to take pity on you, you lazy foundling, and feed
you, as I have done, out of sheer humanity!"

"I cannot say much for your food," replied the boy shortly and
carelessly, as he sat dreamily in a corner playing with a wild flower.

"What!" shrieked the old woman in a still sharper key; "you ungrateful
viper! Is that the thanks I get for so often cooking something on
purpose, because our nice savoury potatoes and nourishing black bread
are not good enough for you? And so, forsooth, the gentleman must have
milk porridge and honey cakes,--and even these he pecks at as if they
were not delicate enough for him, the beggarly ingrate!"

"One might as well eat mill-stones and wood-choppers as your vile hard
potatoes and sour bread," said Julius in the same tone of
indifference.

The old woman fell into such a rage that her breath failed her for
further utterance; so her husband, who was making bird-traps at the
table, began in his turn.

"You rascal! do you dare to blaspheme God's good gifts, when, if we
did not feed you out of charity--you must starve! And what return do
you make us, you stray vagabond? When the fellow wants to slip out at
night, truly he can be as sharp and cunning as any fox; but place a
book before him, that he may learn to be pious and wise, and he loses
his senses at once, and stares as stupidly at the letters as a cow at
a new gate. Does he suppose I picked him off the road for love of his
paltry flaxen hair and his blue goggle eyes? Fool that I was for my
pains! Mark my words, and let every one beware of having anything to
do with a child that is not his own flesh and blood! Why was I such a
goose as not to let the child lie where I found him, kicking and
screaming in the forest?"

"Well, why did you not?" said Julius. "I should have fared much better
beneath God's bright sky, than in your nasty smoky hovel."

At this, the old pair--he with a stick, and she snatching up a
broom--rushed furiously on the boy, screaming and scolding as if they
had a wager who should make most noise. But the child, light and
active as a roebuck, bounded away. He fled to the wood; and when at
last the old people had calmed down a little they heard him singing in
the distance--

    "You ill-favoured couple, adieu to you now!
    I'm off to the forest where waves the green bough.
    The bees, they know neither to read nor to write,
    Yet they gather sweet honey in sunshine bright;
    Though the little birds never were taught how to spell,
    Full many a blithe song they warble right well;
    The flowers are not fed on potato-roots vile,
    Yet through the long summer's day sweetly they smile.
    The butterfly, he has no tailor to pay,
    Yet he never feels cold,--and who dresses so gay?
    The glow-worms at eve show a lovelier light
    Than the dim lamps that mortals consume through the night.
    So adieu, ye vile pair, whom no more I shall see,--
    To the wood! to the wood! there I'm wealthy and free!"

Fearlessly ran Julius about in the forest, and the further he
penetrated into it the lighter grew his heart. The dark night came on;
and many a child would have been frightened, and fancied the tall dark
trees with their strangely contorted branches were giants with long
arms, or black dragons with twisted tails. But Julius was accustomed
to wander by night, and went gaily on. When, however, it began to
rain, and it was so dark that he found difficulty in walking, he sang
in a clear sweet voice:--

              "You glow-worms bright,
                You leaf-clad trees,
              That shine in the night,
                And that bend in the breeze;
    Hither I came, for I trusted that you
    Would lighten my darkness and shelter me too.
    Come, glow-worms! light me to my mossy bed,--
    Branches! keep off the rain-drops from my head!"

Then, a light shone suddenly through the thick tangled bushes and wild
plants; and a multitude of glow-worms came clustering round his
footsteps like little torch-bearers, and guided him along a smooth and
pleasant path to a retired spot, where the bushes and trees were
entwined so as to form a little airy cave, the ground of which was
covered with soft moss. Julius, being very tired, stretched himself on
the moss; and the branches closed over his head, making such a thick
covering with their leaves that not the smallest rain-drop could
penetrate it. Then, he sang:--

    "Now, glow-worms, let your tiny torches gleam
    To light my chamber with their emerald beam;
    In mazy dances round and round me sweep,
    Shedding your radiance o'er me whilst I sleep,
    That I may gaze in slumber's vision fair
    On heaven's bright stars and breathe earth's perfumed air!"

At these words, a thousand glow-worms at the very least came from all
sides. Some hung themselves on the leaves like little coronets of
lamps. Others lay like scattered gems on the moss; whilst others again
circled round him executing the most intricate figures. A great number
fixed themselves in the boy's fair hair,--so that he seemed to wear a
starry crown. So, in the gold green twilight, sat Julius on the soft
green moss, amongst flitting lamps, and concealed by arches and
columns from which streamed forth a green radiance, whilst the mild
and perfumed air played around him, and he heard the rain drip and the
wind murmur mysteriously--but neither could approach him. He gazed
smilingly around; when he suddenly heard a murmuring sound that soon
formed itself into whispered words. It proceeded from a glow-worm that
had perched on the rim of his ear, and spoke to him thus:--

    "If thy thoughts are pure and mild,
    Such as beseem a holy child,
    A wondrous tale will please thee well,--
    And such a tale I now can tell."

To this Julius replied:--

    "I seem to myself like some legend strange,
      So thy tale I shall gladly hear:
    So it be but one of wild chance and change,
      Come whisper it in mine ear."

Then, the glow-worm began her story:--

"As glow-worms bright we now appear, but little nimble elves we were;
in form and in figure much like unto thee, but many hundred times less
were we. In India was our dwelling-place, far--oh how far!--away;
where midst green leaves and blossoms bright we sported all the day.
We scaled the petals of the flowers, within their cups to lie: and
rocked by zephyrs, passed the hours in dreamy phantasy. Our food was
the Aroma sweet exhaled by blossoms fair; and to and fro we darted
fleet, light as the ambient air. 'Twas thus in careless mood we lived,
nor good nor ill did we; when lo! an earnest man arrived, and a holy
tale told he.

"He told us how Creation's Lord had with His own made peace; because
His son His blood had poured, to make His anger cease. For that
life-blood, He willing gave, had slaked the flames of hell; and His
hard-wrung victory o'er the grave had broken its fierce spell. And not
the human race alone,--all things that breathe and move, and e'en the
insensate-seeming stone, were rescued by such love. Hence, through
all nature's vast domain a universal tremor ran; a thrill like that of
death's fierce pain shot through the ransomed race of man.

"'Twas thus the old man daily urged, in high and holy speech, and
gently led us to accept the creed he came to teach:--till at length we
let him sprinkle us with pearly drops of dew; and he hailed us then a
Christian race, and blessed us all anew. And in token of that
blessing, as we bent before him low, he gently laid his finger light
upon each fairy brow; and as the consecrating sign his finger
traced,--lo! there up sprang on each a brilliant star like that which
now I bear. Then did the old man in the ground a cross of pure white
place,--and calling us around him, spake in words of truth and grace.

"'Revere this holy symbol; and as ye have lived for pleasure and ease,
without a creed,--by some good deed henceforward strive your Lord to
appease. There are men living in this land who still in sin and
blindness stand; they lay their dead in the forest's shade, and
scatter o'er them flowers fair, but seek not their poor souls to aid
by holy song or prayer. Wherefore, in night's still secresy, for the
service of the dead, be ready aye to watch and pray and your little
light to shed. That ye this pious work may do, lo! this fair star is
given you!'--And many more high words he spake ere his departure he
did take. Thenceforth we led a holy life, as he command had given; and
often in the silent night, we prayed that through our song and light,
the cleansed soul might win its way to heaven."

"How could you do that? You cannot sing, surely," interrupted Julius.
To which the glow-worm answered:

"Thou canst no other voices hear but such as thundering reach thy ear.
Thou little dull-eared earth-bound wight, thou canst not e'en perceive
by night the stars' majestic music sounding, through the azure vaults
rebounding, with such a full and mighty voice, that though we listen
and rejoice, our delicate nerves shrink tremblingly beneath that storm
of harmony. Think'st thou 'tis without sense and feeling, that in our
spark-twined dances wheeling, some of us darting radiance throw,
whilst others burn with steady glow? But thou knows't not how closely
bound by mystic tie are light and sound.

"Now hear my story on.--

"Not all of us became Christians; and one of our orders in particular,
which had learnt from a Greek the philosophy of Epicurus, still held
to its doctrines. This was the butterfly-tribes,--who like ourselves
were also elves. A light and godless race they were, thinking nothing
worth their care but how to appear in colours gay; and to their
sensual maxims true, they would drink deep of ambrosial dew, and then
for hours would sleep; whilst we, the star-adorned nation, sucked of
the flowers' sweet exhalation just so much from the humid air as for
our nourishment we needed. But those light creatures far exceeded. The
fragrance-breathing rose they courted, and with the young field-lilies
sported, till at length of their strength and their perfume bereft,
the poor wasted flowers to perish were left. By their uncertain
zig-zag flight, dear child, thou well may'st see, that they have drunk
more than is right and their senses clouded be.

"We wore a garb of simple green; but they were ever to be seen in
jackets with ribbons all gay bedight, and in every idle fashion
light,--so that we sometimes laughed to see their folly and their
vanity.

"That is evident enough if you only look at their patch-work clothing
put together without the slightest taste. The foolish fellow with the
swallow-tails thought he had done a vastly clever thing when he
appended to each wing a tail like that the swallows have; and after
all, this monstrous affectation is but a trumpery imitation of that
which nature to the swallows gave. Then, that insufferable ass, the
Peacock's Eye, must copy him in his folly, and wear great spectacles
of coloured glass, which are so far from helping him to see that his
own clear eyes look dim, owing to that fantastic whim. Thou thinkest,
perhaps, the one who wears a mantle grave like a funeral pall is far
above such senseless airs,--but he's the greatest fool of all! That
garb of sorrow is but worn wonder and pity to excite, to seem as if
condemned to mourn--a sorrow-stricken wight. Others there are who on
their jackets gay, cause numbers to be traced; no doubt, you'll say,
to mind them that the years unheeded go and teach them how to value
time. But no! Those youths are your Don Juans, and the numbers show in
pride how many flowers by them brought low have pined and died.

"The king who then did o'er us reign thought of a method somewhat
strange, by which their licence to restrain and work a beneficial
change. He caused to be enforced throughout the nation, a most
peculiar kind of education. He shut the youthful butterflies within a
narrow case of skin, wherein they were so tightly bound they could not
turn their bodies round--and there close prisoners they remained
till they a certain age attained. I must confess, the principle to me
seemed very wrong,--and so it proved to be; for so far from the matter
being mended, we had just the reverse of what the king intended. The
closer they were mewed in prison, the more they longed for
liberty,--and only waited to be free, to plunge in deepest revelry.

"But angry thoughts are leading me astray,--I've wandered from my
theme too far away. To speak of many things I am beguiled which must
be meaningless to such a child.

"Thou now shalt hear the sequel of my tale. There was one set amongst
the butterflies more worthless than all the rest. These were the
confirmed old topers, who had imbibed so much of the ambrosial dew
that their bodies had grown fat and unwieldy, and had very large
stomachs. Such clumsy butterflies as these had little chance the
flowers to please; and so whenever one approached, each bent aside its
calyx bright in mockery of the uncouth wight. Or if by chance one
clambered up to reach the blossom's nectar-cup, its stem would bend
beneath his weight, and down the awkward creature straight would go,
and all its members dislocate. So then their evil deeds they did under
the cover of the night. When every flower was soundly sleeping, they
came like midnight robbers creeping,--then drew them softly to the
ground, and sucked from their lips their nectar breath; so that many a
flower at morn was found, lying pale in death and sinfully robbed of
all its wealth, that had closed its leaves in rosy health.

"Now, my child, thou may'st be sure, full little could those elves
endure that we, on our holy mission bound, the silence and darkness
should chase away by our song, and our prayer, and our emerald
ray,--hoping by that solemn sound to give the dead repose.

"Those who had drunk deep by day, roused by it could not sleep away
the ill effects of their carouse, so they with aches and fevers rose.
But those deceitful spoilers of the flowers, who trusted by night's
shade protected to work their purpose undetected, had now to
fast,--for as we passed, the flowers who loved to hear our song saw by
our light, that pierced the night, their foes come creeping stealthily
along. This with the jealousy within their hearts that glowed, because
the star had not on them, too, been bestowed, between our tribes
raised feud and jar,--whence bitter grief has grown. They had a king,
to whom was known full many a spell of gramarye; 'twas said, that he
a league had made with spirits lost, and by their aid could read the
scroll of destiny. And there he found this dread decree, which told
our coming misery:--

"'When the star-adorned race, shall fall from innocence and
grace,--when their first murder shall be done,--when their monarch's
first-born son by the waves of the sea shall swallowed be;--then vain
shall be rendered their song and their prayer,--from amongst them the
white cross shall disappear,--and to insects transformed they shall
flutter and creep, doomed far from their own land to wander and weep.
The fatal spell may be undone only by their king's lost son; but ere
even he can set them free, he must their chosen sovereign be.'

"The king of the butterflies, when he heard this, began to consider
how he might contrive to bring us to endless wretchedness; and as by
magic he could appear in any form he chose to wear, an angel's guise
he took one day, and neared the spot where our king lay deep sleeping
in a tulip's cup. He by the rustling wakened up, was struck with
wonder and pious awe, when he the angel near him saw; who thus in
wicked words began:--

"'Thy loving wife shall bear a son to thee, of whom 'tis written in
the Book of Fate, that if he be not whelmed beneath the sea, the elfin
nation shall be desolate, and from their native country driven:--such
is the mysterious will of Heaven. Therefore must thou this offering
make for the elfin nation's sake; else thy people's love for thee,
will turn to hatred when they see thou wilt not save them from their
misery; and thou thyself a shameful death shalt die.'

"This said, the guilty wretch departed. No longer slept the king; but
heavy hearted, he musing lay, till break of day. And lo! just as the
sun his radiance bright o'er earth began to shed, the queen gave birth
unto a child, lovely and innocent and mild, and small as a pin's head!

"The king looked on it, but no pleasure glowed in his heart at this
new treasure; and as he gazed, an icy chill through all his members
seemed to thrill; for love of his people, and desire to save his own
life, did inspire his thoughts with a ferocious plan.

"He had a faithful serving-man, to whom his secret he confided; and to
him command he gave to plunge the child beneath the wave, there to
find a watery grave. The boy, however, did not perish:--how he escaped
I shall tell thee hereafter.

"Thus no murder yet had stained the nation; and the white cross still
remained amongst us, and we dwelt unchanged in our accustomed spot.
But the servant, by remorse urged on, revealed the murder he had done.
Then, loyal as was hitherto the nation, the crime so raised our
indignation, that our duty we forgot.

"In the first tumult of their ire some of our fiercest spirits did
conspire their monarch's blood to spill. They tore the thorns from the
stem of the rose, and the strongest and longest and sharpest they
chose to work their wicked will. Beneath their mantles green they hid
the spears; and sought their king, the curse-beladen one, who again in
the tulip lay alone in sorrow and in tears. Wildly they the stem
ascended, and in their rage they struck the deadly blow; they pierced
him till his heart's blood forth did flow,--and with his life, his
sorrow ended.

"Now the sinful deed was done,--now our innocence was gone! Heaven
withdrew its sheltering hand. The white cross the old man had given,
the token of our bond with heaven,--vanished from the land! And as we
flocked together trembling, we heard a rushing through the air, as if
fierce winds in conflict were. Devouring grief our hearts distracted;
our delicate limbs all suddenly contracted, and into ugly worms we
turned!

[Illustration: THE PRINCE OF THE GLOW WORMS. P. 56.]

"Yet as we were not guilty all of the vile crime that caused our fall,
the fair light still upon our foreheads burned. And as we sat in fear
and gloom, a shrill voice thus pronounced our doom.

"Henceforth as homeless worms, away, away!--wander and stray, here and
there, and up and down, until at length ye place the crown on the brow
of the child who by your king's decree was sunk amid the waves of the
foaming sea. Far, far from hence is his dwelling-place, and he seems
like a child of the human race,--but him ye shall know by the star on
his brow.

"'Your lost cross, too, ye must find once more, which he is destined
to restore; when your king and your cross shall again be found, your
penance shall end and the spell be unbound.'

"The gay-dressed elves who had their king deceived by treachery and
lies, were, like ourselves, transformed, and became butterflies.

"Soon as we heard our melancholy doom, we fled, and traversed many a
distant land,--ever peering through the gloom, into each little
sleeping-room; peeping about us all the night, in hope to see the
twinkling light on the brow of some fair boy. And we looked on many a
blessed child, who in his sleep so sweetly smiled, that we would have
chosen him with joy,--but the star was wanting still."

"Poor worms!" said Julius; "and thus you still are seeking now, the
boy with the star upon his brow?"

"Oh! no my child! by Heaven led, we have found the child with the
light on his head; and now I will tell what him befel.

"In his death-struggle with the waves, unto a leaflet green he clung
which floated on the tide, and with a lightsome bound he sprang upon
its upturned side. Contented thus he lay at rest, swayed by the
billows here and there, safely housed and free from care, in the
leaflets' soft green breast. His only food was the radiance bright
which the stars shed down on him by night, and by that delicate food
sustained he made a voyage long.

"But why dost thou stare so fixedly?--why dreamily gaze before thee
so?"

Then Julius said:--

"A dreamy sense is o'er me stealing, of moments long gone by:--when I
in a green leaf thus was laid, gazing upwards on the sky, whilst the
dancing waves around me played. I was rocked by the sea as it rippled
lightly,--fed by the stars which shone o'er me brightly; and on I
sailed right merrily! And feeding thus on the delicate light by the
bright stars downward shed, my nature grew unfit to live by the
grosser human bread."

[Illustration]

"Now that the light is o'er thee breaking, now that thy memory is
awaking,--hear me further," said the glow-worm.--"For four long months
the billows bore the child, until he reached the shore of a far and
distant land, where they left him on the strand. A stork came proudly
stalking by,--well pleased when he such prize did spy; for by the
garment green deceived, a tree-frog he the child believed. And he
resolved the morsel rare to carry home unto his wife, who loved almost
as her life, such choice and tender fare. He took him in his fine long
beak, and with him mounted in the air; but had not travelled far nor
long, when he beheld an eagle strong flying towards him in might; and
being somewhat of a coward, surprised at this event untoward, his bill
he opened in a fright,--and down the elfin child from high fell to the
earth again.

"Why dost thou start as if some pain shot through thee? Why on thy
breast are thy small hands pressed?"

The boy replied:--

"I feel an icy chill through all my members thrill. It must have been
a dream, but unto me doth seem that I had such a fall one day,--and
such a piercing blast right through my breast then passed, its very
memory takes my breath away."

Then the glow-worm said:--

"Oft we mistake some vision vain for life's reality,--and view the
wild creations of our brain as things long past but true. But listen,
now, while I conclude my tale. Thou think'st perhaps the child, in
falling, his limbs would break or dislocate; but as a feather would
descend, light fell that child on the foliage green, and not a tender
leaf was seen beneath his weight to bend. Giddy with spinning through
the air, and breathless for awhile he lay; but soon to sense he did
awaken, and found that he no harm had taken. Above his head, full,
bright, and red, a strawberry hung, green leaves among, and its
fragrance o'er him shed. Whether the child was of wit bereft, or that,
deprived of the starry spark, he had fasted so long in the stork's
bill dark, that hunger did his sense betray, is more than I can think
or say; but the berry to him seemed ruddy and bright, as if woven with
a web of light. This when the foolish elf-child saw, he strove with
all his might to draw the unwholesome earth-fruit to the ground, which
he no easy labour found; then round his little arms he threw, and to
his lips the fruit he drew and sucked its ruby juice. A weary task the
boy did find, to penetrate the tough hard rind; then for a second's
space he drained the nectar which the fruit contained,--one hundredth
part at least he drank,--and mastered by its potency, upon the earth
he sank.

"But alas! all was now lost, that earthly food was unto him fell
poison. Soon each little limb unseemly swelled and spread. His
floating golden locks, as fine as the slight thread that spiders
twine, became as coarse as hay; and every nerve and sinew grew thick
and unsightly to the view. The berry's power had changed him into a
child of man; and he now began to scream and cry and make such direful
noises, as would have drowned the united sound of a thousand elfin
voices."

"Ah woe is me!" exclaimed Julius, sobbing; "if I had not so madly
sucked the deadly juice of that coarse berry, I still should feed on
the perfumed air, and never have known vile human fare."

Then the glow-worm, greatly excited, whispered to him:--

"Know, child beloved, I am thy mother:--the elfin queen, entranced
with joy at finding thee, dear human boy! Alas! that thou shouldst so
gigantic be and I so very small, that we cannot rush into each other's
arms to seal the charms of meeting by a kiss! Thou bearest the light
upon thy brow that dull-eyed mortals cannot see; but we have found
thee, child, and now from the magic thrall both we and those shall
soon be free.

"List, and hear me, while I tell how thou may'st unbind the spell.
First, thou must the white cross find; which, when withdrawn from us
by Heaven, was to a holy hermit given. Wandering in the north, he bore
it,--toiling in the south, he wore it,--whilst many a wonder by its
power he wrought: and when his pious mission the holy man had ended,
he took it to a church where as a relic 'tis suspended. The church
full often hast thou seen when wandering in the forest green; and
thither must thou go this night, nor sound nor sight must thy heart
affright, and nought must make thee in thy purpose falter,--but boldly
take the cross from the high altar. Nought of evil shall come to
thee--'tis only fear that can undo thee; for the Butterfly King will
strive, from fright, to make thee turn again, and all thy hopes our
race to right, by magic to render vain. The cross hangs to a rosary,
and a lamp burns before it unceasingly. Now, off to thy work without
delay, and to the chapel gate on thy steps we will wait, to light thee
on thy way."

Then up sprang Julius joyously. "How light feels my bosom, my heart
how strong!--'tis as if I had known this all along. Hurrah! I'm the
Elfin King. Little care I for the false butterfly. The white cross
from the church I'll quickly bring. Come, light me, light me on the
track!--triumphant soon you will see me back!"

Then his mother, attended by all the other glow-worms, lighted him on
his way, and he followed with bounding steps. They drew up outside the
church-door whilst he entered alone; cold blasts blowing down upon him
from the lofty, pale, glimmering dome. Onward he went without fear. A
great hideous bat fluttered round his head twittering: "Return; go not
to the altar high, for if to spurn my threat thou dare, I will stick
my claws into thy hair, and tear thy locks out one by one, until with
pain thou shalt cry and moan, and thy curly head shall be bald as a
stone."

"For this coarse straw I little care, soon I shall have much finer
hair," said Julius;--and on he went cheerfully.

Next came a great black owl, with very sharp beak and claws, and
sparkling eyes. He also fluttered round Julius, till the tips of his
frightful wings scratched the boy's forehead, whilst he screeched
aloud: "Return, return, go quickly back, else thy blue eyes I will
claw and hack till thou shalt cry in agony, and blinded thou shalt
be."

"My eyes are not so very fine; I shall soon have some that will softer
shine," answered Julius, as he approached the altar before which stood
the undying lamp.

Then suddenly up rose a pale rattling skeleton, round whose scraggy
neck hung the rosary with the white cross; and as the spectre glared
at him from its eyeless sockets, it said with a hollow voice:
"Forbear, forbear, audacious boy! Ere that cross thy prize can be,
thou must conquer it from me. I am Death, the strong, the mighty; no
mortal yet has vanquished me."

Julius shrank, and for a moment hesitated; but he heard his mother
whisper from the church-door: "Away with fear, 'tis all delusion,
magic art and vain illusion. Fearlessly upon him look--thy gaze the
phantom cannot brook; by thy mild look and gentle eye, thou shalt win
the victory. Seize the cross and banish fear, the spectre so shall
disappear."

Julius then regained courage; he rushed up to the skeleton and grasped
the cross! Instantly the phantom vanished, and all was still around
him. He returned thoughtfully and without running. The elves were
waiting for him at the door, and lighted him back to the place whence
they had come. He then set up the cross on a little mossy hillock; and
all the glow-worms formed themselves into a circle round it, and
prayed and sang songs of gratitude,--which, however, were inaudible to
Julius.

His mother then seated herself on the tip of his ear, and whispered:
"Ere our deliverance full can be, thou must once more become as we.
The charmed drink already in thy veins is working. Four elements it
contains: the sound of my voice, the forest's cool air, the fragrance
of the flowers by night, and the brightly-coloured light which thou
didst so eagerly inhale whilst we were dancing round thee. If that
thou dost desire once more thy coarse fat body to restore to its once
delicate form, then know, thou must henceforth to eat forego, save of
the rays from the bright stars beaming, save of the sweets from the
young flowers streaming. Now, sleep in peace, and by to-morrow's light
thy limbs will be more delicate and slight."

Julius stretched himself on the moss, and slept. The next morning he
did not waken until it was late; and then he felt himself so
wonderfully light that he fancied he must be able to jump as high as
the heavens. In order to try his strength, he made a spring, intending
to clear a little ant-heap which he mistook for a hill; but he fell in
the midst of it, and had great difficulty in extricating himself, so
small had he already become. He ate nothing all that day; and at
night, was lighted to bed by the glow-worms who danced round him
whilst he slept.

On the second day he had already become so diminutive that he was
obliged to stand on tip-toe to smell a yellow primrose. When he awoke
on the third morning, he saw high in the heavens the sun with its
golden disk surrounded by silver-white rays. But it did not dazzle him
in the least, let him look at it as steadfastly as he would; and, to
his great surprise, he observed an entirely green rainbow which
stretched down from it to the earth. He went close to it; and then
discovered that the rainbow was only a thick stem, which he grasped
with both hands, and by a great effort shook,--when behold! the sun
moved a little out of its place. He could not help laughing at
himself; for he now perceived that what he had taken for the yellow
sun with the white rays and the green rainbow, was only a large daisy
on its stalk.

He had now diminished to the proper dimensions of an elf. When evening
came, therefore, all the glow-worms assembled round him on the moss to
swear fealty to him. The peers of the realm brought with them a crown
of pure star-light ore, very delicately and tastefully wrought, with
which they solemnly crowned Julius, and no sooner was the crown placed
on his head, than in a moment, as if by magic touch, they were all
changed into little graceful elves, and on the brow of each was a
star. They then took the oath of fidelity, and Julius swore to
maintain the constitution. This done, the rejoicings began, and they
shouted and huzzaed until the noise was as great as that which the
grass makes when it is growing in the sweet spring time.

Julius and his mother embraced and kissed each other. She could not
repeat too often how pretty and slight he was, and how very much he
resembled his father:--and then she shed oceans of tears for her
murdered husband.

The elves rejoiced the whole night through; but when the morning
dawned, they said to each other with some uneasiness: "How are we to
get back to India, to our beautiful native land?" Then a light breeze
murmured amongst the branches, and shook down a hundred-leaved rose,
so that all its delicate curved petals were scattered to the
ground--and a voice was heard, saying:

"There your carriages, light as air, you to the spicy east shall
bear,--and the cross you shall find in your own bright land, already
borne there by an unseen hand."

All the elves now seated themselves in the rose leaves,--Julius and
his mother and the court occupying the finest. Then a gentle zephyr
sprang up; which raised all the rose leaves into the air, and wafted
them softly in the morning dawn home to the east,--the elves
singing:--

    To India, to India, the land of our birth!
              Where the zephyrs blow lightly,
              And the flowers glow brightly,
    And the atmosphere scent-laden floats o'er the earth;
    Where under the wide-spreading leaves we find shelter,
    Nor care how winds whistle, nor how the storms pelter.
              Over our heads
              Their green roof spreads--

    And safe within their vernal bowers
              We elfin spirits dance and play,
              While some soft and holy lay
    Is sung by the tall and fragrant flowers
              On their green stems bending,
              And heavenward sending
    Angel hymns of joyous blending.
    In solemn pomp again we'll tread,
              By our tapers' light,
              In the still dark night,
    To bring to their resting-place the dead!
    --Away then, away! carried swift by the wind,
    At the dawning of day to our native Ind!




THE TWO MISERS.

[Hebrew.]


A miser living in Kufa had heard that in Bassora also there dwelt a
Miser--more miserly than himself, to whom he might go to school, and
from whom he might learn much. He forthwith journeyed thither; and
presented himself to the great master as a humble commencer in the Art
of Avarice, anxious to learn, and under him to become a student.
"Welcome!" said the Miser of Bassora; "we will straight go into the
market to make some purchase." They went to the baker.

"Hast thou good bread?"

"Good, indeed, my masters,--and fresh and soft as butter." "Mark this,
friend," said the man of Bassora to the one of Kufa, "--butter is
compared with bread as being the better of the two: as we can only
consume a small quantity of that, it will also be the cheaper,--and
we shall therefore act more wisely, and more savingly too, in being
satisfied with butter."

They then went to the butter-merchant, and asked if he had good
butter.

"Good, indeed,--and flavoury and fresh as the finest olive oil," was
the answer.

"Mark this also,"--said the host to his guest; "oil is compared with
the very best butter, and, therefore, by much ought to be preferred to
the latter."

They next went to the oil vendor:--

"Have you good oil?"

"The very best quality,--white and transparent as water," was the
reply.

"Mark that too," said the Miser of Bassora to the one of Kufa; "by
this rule water is the very best. Now, at home I have a pail-full, and
most hospitably therewith will I entertain you." And indeed on their
return nothing but water did he place before his guest,--because they
had learnt that water was better than oil, oil better than butter,
butter better than bread.

"God be praised!" said the Miser of Kufa,--"I have not journeyed this
long distance in vain!"




PRINCE CHAFFINCH.

[French.]


There was once a king and queen who ruled with the greatest kindness
and simplicity imaginable; and their subjects were just such good
folks as themselves, so that both parties agreed very well. As,
however, there is no condition in the world which has not its cares
and sorrows, so also this king and queen were not free from them; in
fact, the peace of their lives was considerably disturbed by a fairy,
who had patronised them from their earliest years. Fairy
Grumble-do--that was her name--was incessantly finding fault, would
repeat the same words a hundred times a day, and grumbled at every
thing that was doing, and at all that had been done. Setting aside
this little failing, she was in all other respects the best soul in
the world, and it gave her the greatest satisfaction when she could
oblige or serve anybody.

The union of the royal pair had hitherto proved childless, but
whenever they besought Fairy Grumble-do to give them children, she
invariably replied:--"Children! what do you want children for? To hear
them squalling from morning till night, till you, as well as I, will
be ready to jump out of our skins with the noise? What's the use of
children? Nobody knows what to do with them; they only bring care and
trouble!"

Some such remarks were all the king and queen got for their
entreaties; and the fairy's ill-humour, and the snuffling tone in
which she uttered these speeches made them quite unbearable. The good
king and queen, however, never lost their patience, so that at last
the fairy lost hers, and, in a pet, she all of a sudden gratified them
with seven princes at a birth.

The queen remarked in her usual mild and quiet manner, that she had
now a great many children, to which Fairy Grumble-do answered,
snarlingly:--"Well, you wished for children, Madam queen, and now you
have got them according to your wish, and in order that you may have
enough of them, I shall just double the number."

No sooner said than done, and the queen brought into the world seven
more princes at a birth. The royal pair were now quite in trouble;
fourteen princes of the blood are, in fact, no joke; for however rich
one may be, fourteen princes to nurse, educate, and establish
handsomely, costs a good bit of money. Fairy Grumble-do was quite
right there; fourteen princes do require a good deal of waiting on,
and so she found plenty to do all day, with finding fault, and
scolding first this attendant, then that nursemaid, then this servant,
or that preceptor; and when she once got into the children's
apartment, no one could hear himself speak, for the noise she made.
Still at bottom she meant very kindly, and she promised the anxious
queen that she would take good care of the princes, and one day
provide for them all. Those old times were very good ones, and things
were managed in royal residences with great simplicity. The young
princes played all day with the children of the towns-people, because
they went to the same school with them, and no one had a word to say
against it, which would hardly be the case now-a-days, for kings and
everybody else are grown much grander than they were then.

Quite close to the palace dwelt an honest charcoal-burner, who lived
in his little cottage contentedly on what he earned by the sale of his
charcoal. All his neighbours esteemed him as the worthiest man in the
world, and the king himself had great confidence in his capacity, and
would often ask his counsel in matters of government. He was called
the coal-man throughout all the country, and no one within ten miles
round would have any coals but from him, so that he had to serve every
household, even those of the nobility and the fairies. Wherever he
carried his coals, he was a favourite, and even little children were
not afraid of him, and no one ever said to them, "Behave prettily,
else the charcoal-burner will take you away." After working all day at
his business, he went to his little cottage at night to rest, and to
enjoy his freedom, for he was sole master in the house. His wife had
been long dead, and had left him only one little daughter, called
Gracious; for she was the prettiest creature in the world.

[Illustration: PRINCE CHAFFINCH. P. 76.]

He loved this child beyond all measure; and, indeed, not without
reason, for a prettier little maiden could not be found on earth; in
spite of the coal-smoke that enveloped her, and her poor clothing, she
always appeared charming and agreeable, and no one could help
loving her on account of her wonderful amiability. The king's youngest
son, little Prince Chaffinch, who was as sprightly as he was pretty,
was extremely attached to Gracious, preferred her to all the other
children of his acquaintance, and would play with no one but her, so
that they were always seen together, and indeed, they could not live
without one another. Meanwhile the worthy coal-man, who felt old age
approaching, grew very anxious about the fate of Gracious, after he
should have ceased to live; for the partiality of the king for him did
not seem to him sufficient to put him at ease about her. "The king,"
he would say to himself, as he pondered on the subject, "has a large
family of his own, and is obliged to ask so much of the fairy for his
own necessities, that he surely will not have courage to put in a good
word for my child. Even if he were to promise to do so, I should not
depend on him. For"--thus he ever concluded his self-conferences, "the
poor king, is in fact, worse off than I am; he has fourteen to provide
for; I only one. His are princes; mine is only a poor burgher maid.
Mine therefore will be easier to provide for. A poor girl like her can
manage to get along in the world; she stands alone; but a poor prince
never; hundreds hang about him, draining him, and consuming all his
substance." Now, after thinking it over and over, he grew quite
unhappy at heart, and he knew not what to do. So he went one day, head
and heart full of care, to a very beneficent fairy, who had always
behaved very kindly to him. She was called Fairy Bonbon; she it was,
who, in order to please epicures, both small and great, invented those
sweets which now bear her name. When the good fairy saw the coal-man
in such trouble, she asked him what ailed him; and after he had given
her a highly sensible reply, she promised him in good earnest, that
she would take Gracious under her own care, and desired him to bring
the child to her the following Sunday.

The coal-man obeyed punctually, and when the time came he made little
Gracious put on her best clothes, and the new coloured little shoes he
had bought for her the day before, and set off with his dear little
daughter. Gracious skipped before him, then ran back to him, and took
hold of his hand, saying:--"We are going to the castle, we are going
to the castle!" for her father had not told her anything further about
it.

When they arrived, Fairy Bonbon received them very kindly, but
notwithstanding all was so fine in the castle, and that she had so
many bonbons and other nice things, Gracious could not be happy when
her father went away and left her behind. For the first time in her
life she began to cry, and could scarcely leave off again. This
touched the fairy extremely, so that she grew quite fond of Gracious,
and all who were present said:--"My daughter would not cry so if she
were obliged to part from me." But in time little Gracious became
reconciled to her new residence, and was so obedient and docile that
the good fairy Bonbon never had occasion to reprove her, nor even to
tell her twice of the same thing, so that she took great delight in
her.

When her father came to visit her, the pretty child always ran to meet
him, and threw herself into his arms without fearing to soil the fine
clothes which the fairy had given her. After kissing and caressing her
dear papa to her heart's content, she always inquired after her
friend, Prince Chaffinch, and sent him her best bonbons and toys. The
coal-man always carried them very conscientiously to the prince, who
never failed to send his thanks and a message to say how earnestly he
longed to see her once again.

Thus Gracious lived till she was twelve years old, and then Fairy
Bonbon, who was extraordinarily fond of her, took her father one day
into her boudoir, and desired him to be seated, as she did not like to
see the old man standing up in her presence. The coal-man excused
himself at first, but the fairy insisted, so that at last he was
obliged to obey, although it seemed to him a very strange thing to sit
down in his clothes all covered with coal-dust on a white taffeta
arm-chair, and he could not think how he should manage to prevent his
jacket from leaving marks on it.

At last, however, the fairy constrained him to be seated; and she then
said to him, "Old friend, I love your daughter."

"Honoured madam," replied he, "you are very kind; but indeed you are
much in the right, for she is a very dear child."

"I wish now to consult with you what I shall do," said the fairy; "for
you must know I shall be obliged shortly to travel for a considerable
time in another country."

"Ah, madam, then do have the goodness to take her along with you,"
rejoined the coal-man.

"That is not in my power," answered she. "I can, however, provide very
well for her. Only tell me what would be most agreeable to you that I
should do for her."

"Then I would most humbly beg," replied the coal-man, "that you would
have the kindness to make her queen of a little kingdom, just such a
one as may please your ladyship."

Though gratified by this request, the fairy represented to him, that
the higher the station, the more cares and sorrows it has; but the
coal-man assured her in return, that cares and sorrows are to be found
everywhere, and that those of royalty are the easiest to bear.

"I do not ask of you, most gracious madam fairy," continued he, "to
make me a king. I prefer remaining a charcoal-burner; that is my
trade, which I understand, and as for the trade of royalty, I do not
think that I understand that at all. But Gracious is still young, and
she can learn it, I'll be bound for it; it cannot, after all, be so
very difficult, for I see every day that people manage it one way or
another."

"Well," answered Fairy Bonbon, as she dismissed him, "I will see what
I can do. I must tell you beforehand, however, that Gracious will have
much to suffer, and she will find it very bitter."

"Very possible, gracious Madam Bonbon," replied he. "I also have gone
through many bitter things, and have not gained very much after all,
so have the kindness still to make a queen of her; I ask nothing."

With these words he took leave.

Meanwhile Fairy Grumble-do had provided for almost all the fourteen
princes. She had sent some of them out into the wide world to seek
their fortunes, whereby they had at last succeeded in obtaining
kingdoms, and the rest she had wedded to rich princesses, so that at
least they were safe from want. For little Prince Chaffinch, as yet,
however, she had done nothing; so she came one day to court in her
usual agreeable humour, and found papa and mamma caressing and
fondling their child.

"Ha," said she, "that is a properly spoiled young gentleman, who will
never be good for anything all his days. I lay any wager he does not
know A from B. Repeat me your yesterday's lesson, sir, at once, and if
you miss a single word, you shall have a proper whipping."

Chaffinch immediately repeated his lesson, which, as usual, he had
learnt perfectly, and went through his examination in a style which
was quite wonderful for his age. The king and queen did not dare to
let their gratification at this appear, for fear thereby of
redoubling Madam Grumble-do's ill-humour, for she now maintained that
the instruction given to the prince was not worth a farthing; that it
was far too difficult and too learned for him.

She then turned to the king and queen: "Pray, what is the reason of
your never having asked me to do anything for him yet? It is just your
way. I have been worried into providing for all your other
simpletons--they are the most stupid kings reigning; but that one, of
whom something might perhaps be made, is to be spoilt by you, just
because he is your nest-quackel. But I will not allow it any longer.
He shall go out, and directly too. He is a fine youth, and it would be
a shame to leave him any longer with you. I will not have to reproach
myself with that; folks know that I am your friend, and they shall not
have to say that I encourage you in your follies. Now, let us have no
words about it; let us consider together what is best to be done, for
I am not at all obstinate; I am always willing to listen to good
advice."

The king and queen said very politely that she must decide on that,
for she knew very well that her will was theirs.

"Well then," replied Fairy Grumble-do, "he must travel; travelling
gives a young man a proper finish."

"Very true," said both king and queen with one voice. "But," continued
the queen, "consider that the outfit of the other princes very much
exhausted our coffers, and that just at present we have not the means
wherewith to send out Chaffinch in a style befitting his rank. It
would be very unpleasant for folks to say, 'That is the son of a king,
and he travels like a poor student.'"

"So, that's your vanity, is it?" growled the fairy; "truly vanity is
vastly becoming to people who have fourteen children. You say the
other youths have cost you so much; then, I did nothing for them, I
suppose; you leave all that out of your calculation. Pray, what did
they cost you? Just their bits of meals when they were at home, and a
couple of boxes full of clothes when they went on their travels. Who
found all the rest? Not you, truly; it was I; but you are a pair of
ungrateful creatures, so you are."

"Kind madam," answered the queen, "my husband has set down all the
expenses in the account-book; you can convince yourself."

"A pretty thing, indeed," rejoined Fairy Grumble-do. "Pray, how long
has it been in fashion for a king to keep a debtor-and-creditor ledger
like a tailor? That sounds vastly regal, truly. What is the use of all
the good counsels I have given you, if this is the way you conduct
yourselves. Shame on you! However, I will not worry myself, but I will
put an end to the thing at once. The youth is as giddy as a butterfly,
and wherever he goes he will be telling everybody 'I am a prince and
my father is a king,' Is it not so, eh?"

"Dearest madam godmamma," interposed Prince Chaffinch, "I will say
nothing but what you desire me to say."

"Wait till you are asked, Master Pert!" rejoined she; "you shall say
nothing at all, and I'll take care to prevent you from opening your
self-sufficient beak. Only wait a moment!"

As she blustered out this, she touched him with her wand, and
transformed him into the little bird which to this day bears his name.
The king and queen wished to embrace him, but there was no doing that
any longer now he had become so small; they could only set him on
their fingers. They had scarcely time to kiss him even, for he flew
off, in obedience to the fairy, who pronounced these terrible words:
"Fly where thou canst; do what thou must."

The tears of the king and queen, it is true, did move Fairy Grumble-do
a little, but she would not let that be seen, and merely said, "That
is just like you; you are served quite rightly," and then she seated
herself in her post-chaise, which was drawn by seven magpies and seven
cocks, who made a shocking noise; and off she drove in a very
ill-humour to the assembly of the fairies, which was held that very
day.

By chance she was seated next to the kind fairy Bonbon, and as the
mouth is prompt to speak about that of which the heart is full, she
related to the latter all the trouble she had had in providing
suitably for the fourteen princes; during which narration she did not
fail to give it well to the king and queen, just as if they were
present. At last she asked her colleague if she happened to have a
kingdom or a princess to bestow on Prince Chaffinch.

Fairy Bonbon, notoriously the best-hearted creature in the world, who
was quite averse to this incessant scolding, told her that she would
willingly undertake to find one, but only on condition that Fairy
Grumble-do should not interfere in it, and permit her first to put
the young prince to the proof.

"Do what you please," resumed the latter, speaking more through her
nose than ever--"do what you please, so that I hear no more about the
matter."

She then renounced all her fairy rights over Prince Chaffinch, and
then drew up a formal contract, which they both signed with their own
hands in presence of the lawyer and of competent witnesses.

Bonbon, who soon perceived that her two protegé's were well suited to
each other, resolved to look still closer into the matter, in order to
proceed the more securely, and to make Gracious truly happy. But she
was much pressed for time as the day of her departure was irrevocably
fixed, and was rapidly approaching. She had therefore to devise some
means by which the two might have an opportunity of working out their
own destiny by faith and truth. The first thing she did, therefore,
was to catch Chaffinch, whose natural sprightliness caused him to
delight greatly in flying about, to shut him up in a cage, and bring
him to her castle.

As soon as the young enchanted prince beheld Gracious he was very
joyful, flapped his wings, and tried with all his strength to get out
of the cage and fly to her. He was delighted, however, when she said
to him, "Good morrow, my little bird; dear, how beautiful you are!"
Yet he felt grieved at the same time that he could only answer her by
his twittering, but he did that as agreeably as he could, and made
every demonstration of tenderness that a bird could. This greatly
touched Gracious, though she did not in the least suspect the truth;
and she said, quite unreservedly to Bonbon, that she had always been
particularly fond of chaffinches; at which the kind fairy smiled, and
made her a present of the enchanted prince, on condition of her taking
care of him as of the apple of her eye. This Gracious willingly
promised, and did so too with the greatest satisfaction.

When the day came for the fairy to depart, she said to Gracious, "Take
great care of the chaffinch, and never let him out of the cage; for
were he to fly away, I should be extremely displeased."

She then entered her carriage, which was made of silver-paper. Her
castle, her garden, her domestics and her horses, all went off through
the air with her, and Gracious now remained alone and sorrowful in her
little house of porcelain, which assuredly was very pretty; but what
avails prettiness when one is sad? The garden was constantly full of
cherries, gooseberries, oranges, and, in short, of all imaginable
fruits, always ripe and well-flavoured; the oven, of biscuits,
tea-cakes, and macaroons; the store-room, of sweetmeats and
confectionery of all kinds: and all these good things might well have
consoled her, but she could not enjoy them, for the little chaffinch
slept unbrokenly in his cage. She visited him every five minutes, but
still he did not wake, and she mentally reproached the fairy with
having robbed her of such sweet consolation. At last, after trying
vainly every means of awaking him, she resolved to examine him closer,
to see if she could not discover the fairy's secret.

It is true she did not arrive at this resolution without that
uneasiness and self-reproach which one always feels when acting
contrary to an express command. She even opened the cage several
times, and then shut it again suddenly; but at last she blamed herself
for her timidity, summoned courage, and took the bird in her pretty
little hand. No sooner was he out of the cage than he flew out and
perched on the window-frame, which most unfortunately she had not
closed, so little had she thought on what might occur to her.
Embarrassed and alarmed, she endeavoured to catch him again.

The chaffinch flew into the garden, and she jumped out of the window,
which fortunately was on the ground-floor; but such was her anxiety
that she would have sprung out, had it been on the fourth story.
Calling him by the prettiest and tenderest names, she sought to entice
him, but whenever she fancied she would certainly catch him, off he
flew, from the garden to the field, and on towards a great forest,
which filled her with despair, for she knew perfectly well how useless
it would be to hunt after a chaffinch in a forest; when suddenly, the
bird, of which she had never lost sight, turned into the prince as she
had seen him when she was a child.

"What! is it you, Prince Chaffinch," exclaimed she,--"and you fly me?"

"Yes, it is I, lovely Gracious," replied he; "but a supernatural force
obliges me to keep far from thee; I desire to approach thee, and
cannot."

They now indeed perceived that they were always at least four paces
distant from each other. Gracious, enraptured at again seeing the
prince, forgot how disobedient she had been to the fairy, and her
fears grew calm, in proportion as love took possession of her heart.

As neither of them dared return to the little dwelling which they had
left, nor indeed did they know the way back, they went into the wood,
gathered nuts, and asked each other a hundred questions as to what had
occurred since they last met. They then rejoiced at their good fortune
in being again together, and refreshed themselves with the hope of now
remaining near each other. At last they saw a peasant's hut, and went
to it to request shelter for the night, that they might resolve on
what they should do the next day.

The prince, when they got very near to it, said to Gracious, "Wait
here under this great tree, whilst I go and reconnoitre the house and
its inhabitants."

When he got there, he found a woman who was sweeping before her door,
and of her he inquired if she would receive him and Gracious for the
night into her house.

The old woman answered: "You seem to me to be two disobedient
children, who have run away from your parents, and do not deserve to
meet with compassion."

Chaffinch was, to say the truth, a little embarrassed by this remark,
but he said all sorts of flattering things to her, and offered to
labour for her; in short, he spoke like a lover willing to make any
sacrifice for his beloved, for he began to fear that Gracious would
have to pass the night in the wood, exposed to the wolves, of which he
had heard such terrible stories.

Whilst he was trying to persuade the hard-hearted old woman, it
happened that the giant Koloquintius, the king, or to speak more
accurately, the tyrant of the whole district, who was hunting in the
wood, rode past the very spot where Gracious was waiting. He thought
her surprisingly charming, and was a good deal astonished that she did
not think him equally so, nor appear to be enchanted at seeing him.
Without saying a word to her, he desired one of his suite to lift up
the little maiden and place her under his arm, which being done, he
set spurs to his horse, and galloped off to his capital city.

The cries and lamentations of Gracious did not move him in the least,
and she now--when it was too late--repented of her disobedience. Her
cries disturbed Prince Chaffinch and the old woman in their
conversation; the former ran towards the spot where he had left
Gracious; but who can describe his grief, when he saw her under the
giant's arm! Had he been there at the right moment, he would have
endeavoured at the risk of his life to prevent that deed of violence,
but now he had nothing to do but to follow her. But night overtook
him, he lost sight of her, and quite exhausted, he sat down to give
free course to his grief and tears.

As he sat, he perceived, close to him, a little light, like that of a
glow-worm. At first he paid no attention to it, but the light grew
larger and larger, and at last changed into a female clothed in a
brown garment, who said to him: "Console thyself, Chaffinch, do not
give way to despair; take this flask, which is made of a gourd, and
this shepherd's pouch; thou wilt find them always filled with whatever
thou desirest to eat and drink. Take also this hazel-rod, and when
thou hast need of me, put it under thy left foot and call me; I will
always come to thy assistance. This little dog is commanded never to
leave thee, thou may'st want him. Farewell, Chaffinch. I am the kind
Bonbon."

Chaffinch was already greatly moved by these gifts, but when he heard
the name which Gracious had so often pronounced, he sank at the
fairy's feet, embraced her knees, and cried: "Ah, beneficent lady,
Gracious has been carried off, how is it possible that your Highness
did not hasten to deliver her?"

"I know what has befallen her," replied Bonbon,--"but she was
disobedient, I want not to know anything about her; thou alone must
aid her."

At these words, the light and the fairy disappeared, and Chaffinch sat
in such darkness that he could not see his hand when he held it before
his eyes. He was however, much comforted by thinking that he could now
be of assistance to Gracious, though fear and anxiety still tormented
him greatly, and his new friend, the little dog, was unable by all its
caresses to divert him.

At last, the longed-for day dawned, and he was now able to continue
his wanderings. Towards evening he arrived at the chief city, where he
found everybody talking only of Gracious' beauty, and of Koloquintius'
passion for her. It was said that the giant was very shortly to marry
her, and that he had already commenced building a palace for the new
queen. This news cut little Chaffinch to the heart.

When the people with whom he was speaking, saw his shepherd's pouch,
they said, "This is a handsome little shepherd, why should he not tend
the king's sheep? His majesty is in want of a shepherd, and would no
doubt confer that high office upon him."

The desire of being near Gracious determined Chaffinch to take this
hint. He therefore presented himself before Koloquintius, who regarded
him attentively: as he only asked for courteous treatment, and
required no wages, the king appointed him to be his own private
shepherd. His new office did not, however, bring him into the vicinity
of Gracious, so that he did not gain much thereby. He only learned
that Koloquintius was very melancholy because Gracious did not respond
to his love, and this comforted him a little.

Some days after, as he was following his sheep, he saw a state
carriage, attended by twelve negroes on horseback, with drawn swords,
quit the palace, and in this carriage sat Gracious. Little Chaffinch
heroically threw himself in the way of the horses, held his shepherd's
staff before them, and thundered out with his feeble voice, "Wretches!
whither go you?"

When Gracious saw her Chaffinch in such great peril, she fainted, and
he also lost his senses. When he came to himself, he seized his hazel
wand,--instantly the good Bonbon stood beside him.

"Ah, kind lady!" said he, "Gracious is lost, perhaps already dead!"

"No," replied the Fairy, "Koloquintius is only sending her to the
tower because he is furious at her coldness to him, and her fidelity
to thee. Consider how thou may'st get thither also; think for thyself.
I will assist thee; only I cannot change thee into a bird, because
thou hast already been one; at all events Gracious will have much to
suffer, for the tower is a terrible prison, but it serves her quite
right,--why was she disobedient?"

Thereupon she vanished.

The prince, in great distress, conducted (that is, his little dog did
it for him) the king's sheep along the road which the carriage that
conveyed Gracious had taken, and he shortly came within sight of the
terrible tower, which stood in the midst of a great plain, and had
neither windows nor doors, only a small aperture at the top; it could
only be entered by a subterranean passage, the entrance to which was
concealed in a neighbouring mountain, which it was necessary to point
out to those who were unacquainted with it. Prince Chaffinch was very
glad that he had received such a clever little dog from the fairy, for
it did all his business for him, whilst he kept his eyes constantly
fixed on the tower. The more he considered, the more he was convinced
of the impossibility of getting into it; but love, which conquers all
difficulties, at last inspired him with a plan.

After he had lamented a thousand times that he could not again be a
bird, he besought the good fairy Bonbon, to change him into a paper
kite. She granted his request, and conferred on his little dog the
power of effecting the transformation; he barked three times, took the
hazel-rod in his mouth, and touched the prince with it, who now became
a paper kite, with power to resume his own form as occasion might
require. Then, by the aid of his faithful dog, the prince succeeded in
first reaching the top of the tower, and then getting within it to
Gracious.

It was no small delight to her to hear the assurances of his love, nor
was it a less one to him to hear the same from her, and gratefully did
he express his acknowledgments--for, in spite of his altered form, he
still retained his speech. The pleasures of this conversation would
have caused him to forget altogether that he could not remain for ever
in the tower, and that he must feed his flock, if the little dog, more
faithful to duty than he, had not pulled the string to which he was
fastened, just at the right moment.

Chaffinch no sooner reached the ground, than he resumed his own
figure, and drove the flock back again to the royal sheepfold; but his
whole thought was on the pleasure of flying to his dear Gracious,
which caused him to be greatly vexed whenever the wind blew too
strongly for him to be able to ascend, and Gracious shared in his
grief.

Thus they went on for some time; but as there are always to be found
people who interfere in what does not concern them, others who want to
know everything, and still more, others who are always striving to
show themselves very obliging to the great and rich; it was soon
observed by some of these, that the kite very often descended from the
dark tower. Koloquintius was informed of it; he instantly went
thither, in order to punish the audacious persons who dared to convey
letters in this manner to Gracious, for it never struck him that the
kite could serve for any other purpose. Chaffinch and Gracious were
just in the most interesting conversation, when they were disturbed
from it by the vehemence with which the faithful dog pulled back the
prince, for Koloquintius ran up to him, exclaiming vehemently: "Where
is the shepherd, where is the shepherd? I must kill him, because he
has not informed me of what is going on here."

The dog, fearing that Koloquintius might take the string out of his
mouth, and so get the prince into his own hands, let the kite fly,
which was carried far away by the wind, which happened to be very
high, and catching up the gourd flask, and the shepherd's pouch, ran
off to his master, whom he loved very much, and who now had resumed
his own figure. Favoured by the approaching night, they concealed
themselves in the mountains, whilst Koloquintius, foaming with rage,
was obliged to drive his sheep home himself. In order that no one
should approach little Gracious, he caused his whole army to draw up
on the plain, and commanded them to watch day and night, that no one
whatsoever should approach the tower.

[Illustration]

Prince Chaffinch beheld all this from the high mountain where he and
the dog had placed themselves, and again appealed to Bonbon for
assistance. She immediately appeared, but when he begged her to give
him an army, wherewith to combat that of Koloquintius, she vanished
without saying a word, and only left him a rod, and a great bag of
sugar-plums. When one is sad, and one's heart is heavy, one is not
much inclined to take a joke; and at first Chaffinch thought she meant
to make a jest of him; but when he reflected how kindly she had always
acted towards him, his confidence in her returned, and he took the bag
of sugar-plums under his arm, and the rod in his right hand, and
accompanied by his faithful dog, advanced valiantly to meet the foe.
As he came nearer to them, he remarked that they grew gradually less
and less, and that their lines contracted; and when he got so near
that they could hear him speak, he perceived, to his no small
astonishment, that all these formidable soldiers, and moustached
grenadiers, had shrunk into children of four years old, so that he
cried aloud to them:--"Yield this moment, or you shall all be
whipped." Then the whole army began to cry, and ran away, pursued by
the dog, who soon threw them into complete disorder. To as many as he
could catch, Chaffinch gave sugar-plums, whereupon they immediately
swore to obey him.

Encouraged by their example, the others soon returned, and they one
and all submitted to Chaffinch; so that Koloquintius was now left
without an army to defend him, whilst the prince had a formidable one;
for as soon as they submitted voluntarily to him, they all recovered
their former size and strength.

By this time Koloquintius arrived; but he no sooner saw Prince
Chaffinch than he likewise lost his giant form and strength, and
became not merely a little child like the others, but a very little
dwarf, with crooked legs. The prince caused a dragoon's cap, and a
gay-coloured garment, with hanging sleeves, to be made for him, and
destined him to be train-bearer to Gracious, and to attend upon her in
her apartments.

After this great victory the first care of Chaffinch was to hasten to
the dark tower, in order to set his beloved free. After so many
sufferings and sorrows, her joy at finding herself again free was
indescribable. As they reached the city, Fairy Bonbon and Fairy
Grumble-do also arrived there from opposite directions. The two lovers
now expressed to them their warmest gratitude, and requested them to
decide their fate. Fairy Grumble-do replied:--

"I assure you I have never troubled my head about you; I should have
been a fool indeed to concern myself with such light ware. You are
nothing to me, for the rest of your blessed family give me quite
enough to do without you. Such a parcel of relations as belong to
Prince Chaffinch, never did king's son, in all the wide world, possess
before; a pretty brood truly."

"Dear madam and sister," interposed Fairy Bonbon, in the gentlest
manner, "you know our agreement; only have the kindness to cause the
king and queen, and the worthy coal-man, to come hither, and I will
undertake the rest."

"So," rejoined Madam Grumble-do, "I am to be wedding coachman--am I?"

"Oh! not so, dear madam and sister," answered Bonbon; "you have only
to say if it is not agreeable to you, and I will go myself."

"A pretty errand--a dog's errand," snarled Madam Grumble-do, who
nevertheless ordered her car to turn into a coach, and to bring
thither the desired guests. Whilst Bonbon, Gracious, and Chaffinch,
were caressing each other, Fairy Grumble-do met the Court-dwarf,
Koloquintius, who came in her way just at the right moment,--for
every one was welcome to her so that she had some one to scold,--and
she gave it him prettily on the text of his vanity and self-love.

"Now you are punished," said she, "and nobody pities you; but, on the
contrary, you are the laughingstock of all your former subjects; that,
however, you have always been, though formerly they ridiculed you
secretly, and in whispers; now, however, they do it loudly, and in the
market-place; it will do you a deal of good."

So she continued to abuse him till the arrival of the king and queen,
when she let him go and turned to them.

"You need not trouble yourselves to thank me for anything; it was not
I who sent for you, and indeed I am very sorry you are come, for now
there will be no getting rid of you again. Good counsel would be
thrown away upon you now, you irrational creatures."

She then perceived the old coal-man, and exclaimed:--"A pretty
father-in-law that, for a prince."

The coal-man was not the sort of person to take such an address
pleasantly, and would soon have given her a rough answer, but that the
good Fairy Bonbon came up and begged the company to walk into the
house. But Fairy Grumble-do did not like that neither; the general
joy made her peevish.

Gracious embraced her dear father a thousand times, who all this while
had not suffered any privation, for Bonbon had made him a present of
the porcelain house in which she had often received the king and
queen. These fondled their little Chaffinch, and willingly consented
to his marriage with Gracious, when proposed to them by Bonbon. The
subjects of Koloquintius were absolved from the oath they had sworn to
him, and acknowledged Prince Chaffinch as their lawful monarch. Thus
did the pretty prince obtain a fine kingdom and a charming wife.

Chaffinch and Gracious long governed in peace and happiness, and had a
great many dear children, who also became kings and queens, for a good
and pretty daughter makes not alone her own happiness, but also that
of her parents, and her husband.




THE WOLF AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

[Swedish.]


In ancient times, when matters went on in the world very differently
from what they now do, there reigned a king in Scotland who had the
loveliest queen that ever graced a throne. Her beauty and amiability
were such, that her praise was sung by every minstrel and tale-teller,
and they called her the Scottish phoenix. This fair queen bore to
her husband two children, a son and a daughter, and then died in the
prime of her youth.

The king mourned for her many years, and could not forget her; he even
said that he would never marry again. But human resolutions are
unstable, and can never be depended on; and after the lapse of years,
when the children were already grown up, he took to himself a second
wife. The new queen was an evil-disposed woman, and made indeed a
step-mother to the king's children. Yet the prince and princess were
mirrors of grace and loveliness, and this was the cause of their
step-mother's hatred of them; for the people, who loved the memory of
the former queen, were constantly praising the young people, but never
said anything about her; and whenever she appeared in public with the
young princess, they always applauded and welcomed the latter,
exclaiming, "She is good and fair like her mother." This roused her
jealousy; she was full of spite towards them, and pondered how she
might play them some evil trick; but she concealed the malignity of
her heart under the mask of friendliness, for she dared not let the
king perceive that she was ill-disposed towards them, and the nation
would have stoned her and torn her in pieces if she had done them any
harm.

The princess, who was called Aurora, was now fifteen years of age,
blooming as a rose, and the fairest princess far and near. Many kings'
sons, princes and counts, courted her and sought her hand; but she
replied to them all, "I prefer my merry and unfettered girlhood to any
lover," and thereupon they had nothing to do but to return from whence
they came.

At last, however, the right one came. He was a prince from the East, a
handsome and majestic man, and to him she was betrothed with the
consent and approbation of the king and of her step-mother. Already
the bridal wreath was twined; musicians were hired for the dance, and
the whole nation rejoiced at the approaching nuptials of the fair
Princess Aurora. But far other thoughts were in the queen's heart, and
with threatening gestures she said to herself, "I will hire musicians
who shall play a very different tune, and those feet shall dance
elsewhere than in the bridal chamber. For," continued she, "this
throws me quite in the shade, and my sun must set before this Aurora;
especially now that she is going to have such a stately man for her
husband, and will give descendants to her father, for I am childless.
The nation, too, delights in her, and receives her with acclamation,
but takes no note of me. Yet I am the queen: yes, I am the queen, and
soon all shall know that it is I who am queen, and not Aurora."

And she meditated day and night how she might ruin the princess and
her brother; but not one of her wicked plans succeeded, for they were
too well guarded by their attendants, who valued them like the apple
of their eye, and never left them day nor night, because of the dear
love they bore to their mother, the departed queen.

At length the bridal day arrived, and the queen having no more time to
lose, bethought herself of the most wicked art she knew, and
approaching the young people in the most friendly way possible, begged
them to go with her into the rose-garden, where she would show them a
wonderfully beauteous flower which had just opened. Willingly they
went with her, for the garden was close to the palace, and no one
suspected any evil, for it was only mid-day, and the king and the
grandees of the land were all assembled in the great hall of the
palace where the nuptials were to be solemnised.

The queen led her step-children to the furthermost corner of the
garden where grew her flowers, till they came beneath a dark yew tree,
where she pretended to have something particular to show to them. Then
she murmured to herself some words in a low tone, broke off a branch
from the tree, and with it gave some strokes on the backs of the
prince and princess. Immediately they were transformed. The prince, in
the shape of a raging wolf, sprang over the wall and ran into the
forest; and the princess as a grey bird, called a nightingale, flew
into a tree and sang a melancholy air.

So well did the queen play her part, that no one suspected anything.
She ran shrieking to the castle, and with rent clothes and dishevelled
hair sank on the steps of the hall, acting as if some great disaster
had befallen her, and by the king's command her women carried her to
her chamber. A full quarter of an hour passed ere she came to herself.
Then she assumed an attitude of grief, wept, and exclaimed, "Ah, poor
Aurora, what a bridal day for thee! Ah, unfortunate prince!"

After repeatedly exclaiming in this manner, she at length related that
a band of robbers had suddenly burst into the garden, and had forcibly
torn the royal children from her arms, and carried them off; that they
had struck herself to the ground and left her half dead; and she then
showed a swelling on her forehead, to produce which she had purposely
hit her head against a tree. They all believed her words, and the king
commanded all the great lords, and counts, and knights, and squires,
to mount their horses and pursue the robbers. They traversed the
forest in all directions, and visited every cave, and rock, and
mountain, for at least three miles round the palace, but they could
not find a trace of either the robbers or the prince and princess. The
king, however, could not rest, and caused further search and
enquiries to be made, for weeks and months; and he sent messengers
into all the countries he could think of; but all was in vain, and at
length it was as if the prince and princess had never been in
existence, so entirely had they disappeared.

The old king, however, thought that the robbers had been tempted by
the fine jewels that the prince and princess wore on the wedding day,
and that they had stripped them of those and then murdered them, and
buried their bodies in some secret place: this so grieved him that he
shortly after died. On his death-bed, as he had no children, he
bestowed his kingdom on his wife, and besought his subjects to be true
and obedient to her as they had been to him. They gave their promise,
and acknowledged her as queen, more out of love for him than for her.

Thus four years passed away, when, in the second year after the king's
death, the queen began to govern with great rigour; and with the
treasures the king had left behind him, she hired foreign soldiers
whom she brought over the sea to guard her and to keep watch over the
palace; for she knew that she was not beloved by her subjects, and she
said, "That they should now do out of fear what they would not do for
love."

And so it came to pass, that from day to day she became more hated by
every one, but nobody durst show his hate, for the slightest whisper
against her was punished with death. Nevertheless, the murmurs and
whispers still went on; and it was commonly said among the people,
that the queen had a hand in the children's disappearance; for, in
truth, there were plenty of persons who, on account of her sharp eyes
and her affected love for the children, suspected her of evil
practices against them. These murmurs, so far from dying away, went on
increasing; but the queen cared not for them, and thought "they will
remain the brutes into which I have transformed them, and no one will
deprive me of the crown." However, things turned out otherwise than
she expected.

Meanwhile the poor royal children led a sorry life. The prince had
fled to the forest as a grey wolf, and was obliged to conduct himself
like a wolf, and howl like one too, and by day to wander about in
desolate places, and to prowl about at night like a thief; for wolfish
fear had also sprung up in his heart. And also, he was obliged to live
like other wolves, on all sorts of prey--on wild animals and birds,
and in the dreary winter-time he was often obliged to content himself
with a mouse, and live on very short commons, and with chattering
teeth, to make his bed amongst the hard cold stones. And this
certainly was very different from the princely mode of life to which
he had been accustomed previous to his being driven into this wild
savage misery.

He had, however, one peculiarity, which was, that he only destroyed
and devoured animals, and never desired to take human blood. Yet there
was one after whose blood he did thirst, and that was the wicked woman
who had transformed him; but she took very good care never to go where
she might be within reach of that wolf's teeth. It must not, however,
be supposed that the prince, who was now a wolf, still preserved human
reason. No; all had grown dark within him, and under the form of the
beast as which he was condemned to scour the forest, he had also very
little more than brute understanding. It is true, a dim instinct often
drew him towards the royal residence and its gardens, as though he had
cause to expect that he should find prey there; but he had no clear
remembrance of the past: how indeed should it have lasted under a
wolf's skin? At those moments when he felt the impulse, he was always
also seized with unusual fierceness; but as soon as he came within a
thousand paces of the spot, a cold shudder passed through him and
compelled him to retire. This was the effect of the queen's magic art,
which enabled her to keep him banished from her to just that distance,
and no further.

She, however, did all in her power to destroy him, and caused her
attendants to hunt very frequently in the forest which surrounded the
castle, thinking that it was most probable that he was still there. On
this account, twice in almost every week, she caused noisy hunts and
battues after wolves and foxes to be held there; and, as a pretext for
these, she kept a great many pretty deer there, of which our royal
wolf did not fail to devour as many as he could catch. He, however,
always contrived to escape the danger, although the dogs often had
their claws in the hair of his back, and the hunters aimed many a shot
at him. He concealed himself for the moment, and when the noise ceased
and the bugles no longer resounded, he returned to the thicket, which
was close to the castle, and lay in the sunny spots where, as a boy
and youth, he had often played. Still he knew nothing of the past, but
it was a mysterious love that drew him thither.

The Princess Aurora as we have said had flown up into a tree, being
transformed into a nightingale. But her soul had not become dark
beneath its light feathery garb, like the prince's within the wolf's
hide; and she knew much more than he, both of her own self and of men,
only she was deprived of the power of speech. But she sang all the
more sweetly in her solitude, and often so beautifully, that the
beasts skipped and leaped with delight, and the birds gathered round
her, and the trees and flowers rustled and bent their heads. I think
the very stones might have danced had they but had the power to love,
but their hearts were too cold. Men would soon have remarked the
little bird, and much talk would have arisen about her, but some
secret power withheld them from entering the wood, so that they never
heard the nightingale sing.

I have already related how the queen persecuted the poor royal wolf
with hunts and battues, so that he was the innocent cause of great
trouble and inconvenience to the whole wolvine family. As great evil
too befel the little birds, and in those days of tyranny, it was a
great misfortune to be born either a thrush, a linnet, or a
nightingale, in the neighbourhood of the castle. For the queen, after
the death of the king had thrown all the power into her own hands,
suddenly pretended to have an illness of so peculiar a kind, that not
only were the cries, cawing, and chattering of birds of prey
insupportable to her, but even the sweetest twittering and warbling of
the merry little birds affected her unpleasantly; and in order to make
people believe this, she fainted on two occasions when she heard them
sing.

This, however, was only a deception; her wicked aim was to kill the
little nightingale, if by chance it should still frequent those groves
and gardens. She knew full well that the little bird could not
approach within a hundred paces of the castle, for she had cast her
witch-spell upon her, as well as upon her brother. Under the pretext
of this nervous sensibility to tender and delicate sounds, war was
waged, not only against the pretty little royal nightingale, but
against all the warblers in the vicinity. They were all proscribed and
outlawed, and the queen's foresters and gamekeepers received the
strictest orders to wage war against every feathered creature, and not
to spare even the robin: no, nor the wren, at whom no sportsman ever
before fired shot.

This terrible hatred of the queen's was a misfortune for the whole
feathered race, not only for those which lived at large in the woods
and groves, but even for those which were kept in the court-yards and
houses. No feathered creature was to be found in the capital city,
nor in the vicinity of the royal residence; for the people thought to
pay court to the queen, and to win her favour, by imitating her
caprices. There was a destruction of the feathered tribe, like another
slaughter of the innocents. How many thousand canaries, goldfinches,
linnets, and nightingales; nay, even how many parrots and cockatoos,
from the East and West Indies, had their necks wrung! Discordant, or
melodious throats, the chattering, and the silent, were all menaced
with one fate; it became a crime to be born either a goose, or a
turkey, or a hen; and the common domestic fowls grew as scarce as
Chinese golden pheasants. If the queen had waged such war against the
feathered race for another ten years, they would have quite died out
of the country. Indeed, not only were all the birds murdered, but
scarcely did a human being now take a walk in the wood, for fear of
being suspected of going thither in hopes to hear the song of a bird.

And thus it was, that no one ever heard the wondrous song of the
little nightingale, except here and there a solitary sportsman, and
these never spoke of it, lest they should be punished by the queen for
not having shot it. And indeed, to the honour of the foresters it must
be said, that most of them followed their own good disposition, and
seldom shot any little bird, but they were obliged to fire through the
forest till it rang again. And this prevented any singing, and indeed
many birds withdrew from it altogether, on account of the incessant
noise, and never returned. The little nightingale, however, whom
heaven especially protected, so that she escaped all the plots against
her life, could not forsake the green forest behind the castle, where,
in her childhood, she had played, and skipped about, so that although
she flew away as soon as the bugles sounded, and the halloos and
hurrahs echoed through the wood, she always returned again. And
although her little songs, as coming from a sad heart, were, for the
most part, melancholy and plaintive, still it was pleasing to her to
live so amongst the green trees, and gay flowers, and to sing
something sweet to the moon and stars; and she was unhappy only during
a few months in the year. This was the season when autumn approached,
and she was obliged to go with the other nightingales into foreign
climes until the return of spring.

The little feathered princess confined herself then mostly to the
trees and meadows where she had sported as a child; or in later years,
with companions of her own age, had twined wreaths and garlands; or
in the happiest days of her life, had wandered in those solitudes with
her beloved. Her favourite haunt was a spot where grew a thick green
oak, which spread over a murmuring rivulet, and which served as a
covert for the soft whispers of their love. In this place she often
saw the wolf, who was also led thither by a dim feeling of the past,
but she knew not that it was her unfortunate brother. Yet she grew
attached to him, because he so often lay down and listened to her song
as though he understood it; and she often pitied him for being a harsh
and wild wolf, that could not flutter from bough to bough, like
herself and other little birds. But now I must also tell of a man,
who, in that solitary forest, was often a listener to the little
nightingale. This man was the eastern prince, her destined bridegroom
when she was yet a princess.

Whilst the old king yet lived, he loved this prince beyond all other
men, because of his virtues and valour, and on his death-bed had
recommended him to the queen as her counsellor and helper in all
difficulties and dangers, and especially as a brave and experienced
warrior. On this account, after the king's death, he had remained
about the queen, solely for love of the departed. But he soon
perceived that the queen hated him, and was even plotting against his
life, so he suddenly withdrew from her court, and left the country.
She, however, caused him to be pursued as a traitor and a fugitive,
and sent forth a decree, proclaiming him an outlaw, by which every one
was empowered to slay him, and bring his head, on which a high price
was set, to the royal castle. But he escaped to his father's land,
which lay many hundred miles to the east of the queen's palace, and
there dwelt with him. Still in his heart, he found no rest, and his
grief for his vanished princess never subsided. A wonderful thing also
came upon him, for once every year he disappeared, without any one
being able to discover whither he went. He then saddled his horse,
clad himself in obscure-looking armour, and rode off so that no one
could trace his path. He felt himself impelled to enter the country of
the queen who had outlawed him, and to visit that forest wherein the
princess had disappeared. This powerful impulse seized him annually,
just before the time when the princess had vanished, and he rode
through wild, desolate, and remote places, until he reached the
well-known spots, where he had once wandered with his betrothed. The
green oak by the rivulet, was also his favourite place. There he
passed fourteen nights in tears, and prayers, and lamentations for
his beloved; by day, however, he concealed himself in the neighbouring
thicket. There he had often seen and heard the little nightingale, and
taken delight in her wonderful, and almost bird-surpassing song.

[Illustration]

Yet they knew nought of each other; and although the little bird
always felt sadness, and longing in her heart, when the knight had
ridden away, still she knew not wherefore, and her deep and
languishing Tin! Tin! still resounded in his heart when he had
returned to his father-land. It was, however, with him, as with most
other men who love, or do something mysterious, which puzzles all
around them, he was not conscious of his own secret. That he was
impelled each year to ride stealthily away he knew full well--but
wherefore he was so impelled, he knew not at all.

Now a long time had passed since the death of the king, and it was
already the sixth year since the royal children had disappeared, and
the queen lived in splendour and enjoyments, and caused the beasts to
be hunted, and the birds to be shot, and was no less harsh and cruel
to her subjects than to the wild inhabitants of the woods. She fancied
herself almost omnipotent, and thought her good fortune and power
would have no end. Still, ever since that day, she had never entered
the forest, a secret terror had always withheld her. She, however, did
not allow herself to dwell upon it, nor did she perceive that a magic
spell was the real cause.

Now it came to pass that she had appointed a grand festival and
banquet, to which were invited all the princes and princesses of the
kingdom, and all the nobles and all the principal officials. In the
afternoon a grand wolf hunt was to take place in the forest, at which
the princes intreated her to be present. She hesitated a long while
under all kinds of pretences, but at last she allowed herself to be
persuaded. She, however, placed herself in a very high chariot, and
bade three of her bravest warriors, completely armed, to seat
themselves beside her. She also commanded several hundred armed
outriders to keep before and behind and by the side of the chariot,
and a long train of carriages, full of lords and ladies, followed. The
wolf was never out of her thoughts, but she said to herself: "Let the
wolf come; nay, let a hundred wolves even come, this brave company
will soon make an end of them." Thus does providence blind even the
most far-seeing and cunning when they are ripe for punishment; for it
had been foretold to her by other masters of her godless art, that she
must beware of the sixth year. But of that she thought not then.

And it was a fair and cheerful spring day, and they went out into the
forests with trumpets and horns, and the steeds neighed and the arms
clashed, and the naked swords and spears glittered in the sun; but the
queen outshone them all in her most splendid attire and all her
jewels, as she sat enthroned in her high chariot. Already the chase
had commenced with loud huzzas and hurrahs, and the clanging horns of
the hunters and the baying of the dogs. Then a lion rushed before
them followed by a boar; but they did not fear, and every man stood
firm at his post, and they struck down the monsters. But ere long came
a still more dreadful beast, which filled them all with alarm. A
tremendous wolf rushed from the thicket upon the green plain, and
howled so awfully, that hunters, dogs, and riders, all took flight.
The wolf ran like an arrow from a bow; nay, he did not run, but flew
between the men and horses, and not one of these remembered that he
was armed with a bow, and a spear, and a sword, so dreadful was the
aspect of the monster, and so terrifically did he open his foaming
jaws. The queen, who saw him making towards her chariot, shrieked
"Help! help!" The women screamed and fainted, many a man cowardly did
the same. No one thought of obstructing the wolf's course, and with
one spring, he threw himself on the chariot, tore from it the proud
woman, and dyed his teeth and jaws in her blood. All the rest had
fled, or stood at bay.

And oh, wonder! when they endeavoured to rally their courage in order
to attack, the wolf was no more to be seen, but where he had just
stood appeared the form of a handsome and armed young man! The men
were astonished at the magic change, but some brandished their weapons
as though they would attack him as a second monster. Then suddenly an
ancient lord came forward from among them, the chancellor of the
kingdom, and forbade them, crying aloud, "By my grey hairs I charge
you, men, hold off! You know not whom you would strike;" and before
they could collect their thoughts he lay prostrate on the ground
before the young man and kissed his knees and hands, saying, "Welcome,
thou noble blossom of a noble sire, who again art risen in thy beauty!
And rejoice, oh nation; the son of thy lawful king is returned, and he
is now your king!"

At these words many hastened round and recognised the prince, and
hailed him as their lord, and then the rest followed their example.
They were full of terror, and astonishment, and joy, all at once, and
thought no more of the demolished queen nor of the wolf; for that the
prince had been the wolf they had no idea.

The young king desired them all to follow him to his father's castle;
he also stopped the chase, and the horns and trumpets which just
before had disturbed the woods, now resounded before him to celebrate
his happy return. And when again he was within, and looked down from
his father's turrets, tears filled his eyes, and he wept both in joy
and sorrow; for he remembered now all his trouble and thought of the
bitter past, which lay upon him like a heavy dream. Then suddenly all
grew clear in his mind, and he was able to relate to the chancellor
and the nobles of the kingdom what had befallen him, and that only by
the heart's blood of the old wicked witch, who was called his
step-mother and their queen, could he be restored to his own form. The
report of this astonishing wonder immediately circulated through the
city and amongst the whole nation; and they all rejoiced that their
beloved king's son was restored to them, and that the queen, whom they
hated, had been torn in pieces by the fangs of the wolf which she
herself had created.

But as the prince gradually came to himself, and bethought himself of
all that had occurred, it lay heavy on his heart where his beloved
sister, the Princess Aurora, might be, and whether she also were
concealed within the skin of some animal, or feathery covering. Then
he remembered her melancholy bridal day. And he enquired of every one
about her; but all were silent, for none could give him any
information. Then he again became sad and full of care, but this care
and sadness were soon changed into joy.

For when all the noise of the wolf-chase took place, the poor prince
from the East was just then lying concealed in his thicket, and the
charming little nightingale was silent, and hidden amongst the green
leaves of her oak. But a mysterious sensation shot through her little
heart as soon as the thirsty fangs of the wolf, her brother, were
bathed in the queen's blood.

Now when the chase was over, and the forest again was still, and the
sun had set, the prince came out of his dark recess, and leant sadly
against the stem of the green oak, wetting the grass with his tears,
as was his nightly custom; and his heart seemed more than usually
oppressed with sorrow. The little bird in the branches, however, began
to sing to him, as was her wont, and he fancied that she sang
differently from before, and with more enigmatical significance, and
almost in a human voice. And a shudder came over him, and in great
agitation he exclaimed, looking up amongst the branches:--"Little
bird, little bird, tell me, canst thou speak?"

And the little nightingale answered yes, just as human beings are wont
to answer, and wondered at herself that she was able to speak, and
for joy she began to weep, and for a long time was silent. Then again
she opened her little beak, and related to the man, in an audible
human voice, the whole history of her transformation, and that of her
brother, and by what a miracle he had again become a man. For in a
moment all had become clear in her mind, as if a spirit had whispered
it all to her.

The man exulted in his heart when he heard her tale, and he reflected
much within him, and revolved many a plan; and the little bird
frolicked and flew confidingly around him; yet although she now knew
her own history, and what had occurred so well, she knew not in the
least who he was. And he enticed the little bird, and caressed it, and
fondled it, and intreated it to come with him, and he would place it
in a garden where bloomed eternal spring, and where no falcon ever
entered, and no one ever fired a shot. That would be far pleasanter
than to flutter about in wild thickets, and have to tremble at the
thought of winter, and of hunters and birds of prey. But the little
bird would hear nothing of it, and praised freedom and her green oak,
and twittered, and sang, and fluttered round the man, who took no
heed, for he seemed plunged in other thoughts.

But see what were his thoughts! For before the little bird was aware,
the man had caught her by her little feet, and hastily made off, threw
himself on his horse, and flew full gallop as if pursued by a tempest
to an inn which he knew in the city, not far from the castle, took
there a solitary chamber, and shut himself up in it with his little
bird. When the little bird saw him take out the key, and give other
signs of its being her prison, she began to weep bitterly, and to
implore him to let her fly; for she felt quite oppressed and wretched
in the closed room, and could not but think of her green trees, and
her cherished liberty. But the man took no notice of her tears and
supplications, and would not let her fly.

Then the little bird grew angry, and began to transform herself into
various shapes, in order to terrify the man, that he might open the
doors and windows, and be glad that she should fly away. So she became
in succession a tiger and lion, an otter, a snake, a scorpion, a
tarantula, and at last a frightful dragon, which flew upon the man
with poisonous tongue. But none of these frightened him in the least,
but he kept his determination, and the little bird had all her trouble
for nothing, and was obliged to become a bird again.

And the man stood in deep thought, for something he had read in
ancient tales came into his mind. So he drew a knife from his pocket,
and cut a gash in the little finger of his left hand, where the
heart's blood flows most vigorously. And he smeared the blood on the
little head and body of the bird, which he had no sooner done than the
miracle was completed.

That very moment the little bird became a most lovely maiden, and the
prince lay at her feet and kissed her hand, respectfully and
submissively. The nightingale had now become the Princess Aurora, and
recognised in the man her bridegroom, the prince from the land of the
East. She was quite as young and beautiful as she was six years
before, at the time of her transformation. For it is a peculiarity of
transformations that the years during which persons are transformed do
not add to their age, but a thousand years do not count for more than
a second.

It is easy to imagine the joy of the pair; for when two loving hearts
which have remained faithful to each other, meet again, after a long
time, that is truly the greatest joy on earth. But they did not linger
long together, but caused the king to be informed that two foreign
princes from a distant land had arrived at his court, and requested
his royal hospitality. Then the king went out to welcome them, and
recognised his beloved sister Aurora, and his dear friend the prince
from the land of the East, and was overjoyed; and the nation rejoiced
with him, that all was restored as before, and that the kingdom no
longer belonged to strangers.

After a few days he set the royal crown upon his head, and began to
govern in his father's stead. He celebrated his sister's nuptials with
the greatest magnificence, and there was dancing and feasting and
knightly games. She and the prince also received from him a noble
establishment both of land and attendants, so that they were able to
live almost like kings. Aurora had, however, begged her brother to
give her the wood, wherein as a bird she had fluttered through so many
cheerful, and also sorrowful days, and this he willingly granted her.
She built there a stately royal castle by the stream where she had so
often sat and sung, and the thick green oak came into the centre of
the palace-garden, and flourished yet many a year after her, so that
her posterity still played beneath its shadow. She, however, caused a
command to be issued that the wood should to all times be left in its
natural majesty; she also gave peace to all little singing-birds, and
forbade, in the strongest manner, traps or snares to be set within
those sacred precincts, or that the little creatures should be
molested in any way. And her brother reigned as a great and pious
king, and she and her brave husband lived in happy love till they
arrived at a snow-white age, and saw their children's children around
them, till at length, accompanied by the blessing of God and men, they
sank softly to sleep. It has been a custom ever since, amongst their
children and descendants, that the eldest prince of their house should
be christened Rossignol, and the eldest princess Philomela; for she
desired to establish a pious recollection through all times of the
marvellous misfortune that befel her when she was transformed into a
nightingale. For Rossignol means, in fact, Rose-bird--the nightingales
sing chiefly in the rose season--and Philomela, friend of song. The
word nightingale means, however, songstress of the night, and this is
the best of all.




THE ENCHANTED CROW.

[Polish.]


In a royal palace dwelt, once upon a time, three fair sisters, all
equally young and pretty; the youngest, however, although not at all
more beautiful than the two elder, was the best and most amiable of
them all.

About half a mile distant from the palace, stood another lordly
dwelling, but which had then fallen into decay, although it still
could boast of a beautiful garden. In this garden the youngest
princess took great pleasure to wander.

Once as she was walking up and down between the lime trees, a black
crow hopped from under a rose-bush. The poor bird was all mutilated
and bloody, and the princess was moved with compassion for him. The
crow no sooner perceived this than he broke out into the following
discourse:--

"No black crow am I by birth, but an unhappy prince, suffering under a
malediction, and doomed to pass my years in this miserable condition.
If thou wilt, oh youthful princess, thou canst rescue me. But to do
so, thou must resolve to be ever my companion, to forsake thy sisters,
and to live in this castle. There is a habitable chamber in it,
wherein stands a golden bed; in that chamber thou must live in
solitude. But forget not, that whatsoever thou mayest see and hear by
night, thou must let no cry of fear escape thee; for if thou shouldst
utter but one single moan my tortures will be doubled."

The kind-hearted princess did forsake her father and sisters, and
hastened to the castle; and there dwelt in the chamber which contained
the golden bed. She was so full of anxious thought that she could not
sleep. As midnight drew near she heard, to her no small terror, some
one creeping in. The door opened wide, and a whole band of evil
spirits entered the chamber. They kindled a great fire on the hearth,
and placed over it a large cauldron, full of boiling water. With great
noise and loud cries they approached the bed, tore from it the
trembling maiden, and dragged her to the cauldron.

She was almost dead from fear, but she uttered no sound. Then suddenly
the cock crew, and all vanished. The crow immediately appeared, and
hopped joyfully about the room, and thanked the princess for her
courageous behaviour, for the sufferings of the unhappy bird were
already lessened.

One of her elder sisters, who had much curiosity in her disposition,
having heard of this, came to visit the princess in her ruined castle.
She besought her so earnestly, that the kind-hearted maiden at length
permitted her to pass one night beside her, in the golden bed. When
the evil spirits appeared as usual about midnight, the elder sister
shrieked aloud from fear, and immediately the cry of a bird in pain
was heard.

The young sister from that time never received the visits of either of
her sisters. Thus did she live; solitary by day, and suffering by
night the most terrible alarm from the evil spirits; but the crow came
daily to her, and thanked her for her endurance, assuring her that his
dreadful sufferings were greatly mitigated.

Thus had passed two years, when the crow came to her, and thus
addressed her:--

"In one year more I shall be delivered from the punishment to which I
am condemned; for then seven years will have passed over my head. But
before I can re-assume my real form, and gain possession of my
treasures, thou must go out into the wide world, and become a
servant."

Obedient to the will of her betrothed, the young princess served for a
whole year as a maid, and notwithstanding her youth and beauty, she
escaped all the snares laid for her by the ill-disposed.

One evening while she was spinning flax, and her white hands were
wearied with work, she heard a rustling, and an exclamation of joy. A
handsome young man entered her presence, knelt before her, and kissed
the little weary white hands.

"It is I," cried he, "I am the prince, whom thou, by thy goodness,
whilst I wandered in the form of a black crow, didst deliver from the
most dreadful tortures. Return with me now to my castle, there will we
live together in happiness."

They went together to the castle where she had undergone so much
terror. The palace was, however, no longer recognisable, it was so
improved and adorned, and in it did they dwell together for a hundred
happy and joyous years.




THE DRAGON-GIANT AND HIS STONE-STEED.

[Russian.]


Not one amongst the numerous wives of Vladimir the Great was
comparable in beauty to the Bulgarian Princess Milolika. Her eyes
resembled those of the falcon; the fur of the sable was not more
glossy than her eyebrows, and her breast was whiter than snow.

She had been carried off by robbers of the Volga, from the vicinity of
Boogord, the capital of her native country, and on account of her rare
beauty they deemed her worthy to be a wife of the great monarch. They
therefore conducted her to Kiev, the residence of the mighty Vladimir,
and presented her to him. Vladimir, a good judge of female charms, the
moment he beheld her, was enchanted by the surpassing beauty of the
Bulgarian princess, and in a short time his love for her became so
great that he made her his consort, and dismissed all his other
wives. The proud heart of the king's daughter was touched by this
proof of his affection, and she rewarded his tenderness with
reciprocal and true love.

The life of Vladimir was now one of great happiness. His conquests had
procured him riches in superfluity; a long period of peace had
augmented the prosperity of his country; his subjects loved him as
their father; and the tenderness of Milolika made earth seem to him as
heaven.

One day as in company with his consort and his Bojars, he sat in the
golden chamber by his oaken table, holding a festival in memory of a
victory over the Greeks, the sound of a warrior's horn was heard at a
distance. The rejoicings in the lofty hall suddenly ceased. The
monarch and the Bojars cast their eyes to the ground, full of thought
and heaviness. Swâtorad alone, the spirited Voivode of Kiev, started
up from the table, and leaving his goblet undrained, approached the
great monarch. "Thou art," spake he, as he bent low before him, "thou
art our father and our lord, thou art the child of renown: wherefore
sinks thy head? Why does the sound of the warrior's horn make thy
heart heavy? Even if it be a hostile knight who now appears before
the capital, hast thou not enough brave heroes to confront any foe?
Away then! Send forth thy heralds to demand who dares to defy the
country of the Russians?"

Vladimir looked friendly upon the gallant Swâtorad, and thus replied
to his address: "I thank thee for thy zeal, good Swâtorad; but my
anxiety does not arise from fear. I have defeated hosts, made myself
master of fortified cities, and overthrown kings: how should I know
fear? But it was my desire henceforth to preserve to my subjects the
blessing of peace, and that alone is the cause that this challenge to
combat makes me sorrowful. If however it must be so, I will defend my
country and myself. Go and send heralds to demand who dares to come
forth against Kiev, to challenge Vladimir to battle?"

The brave Swâtorad immediately sent forth two heralds, who sprang upon
their horses and rushed to the open plain, where they at once beheld a
monstrous tent, before which a horse of unusual size was grazing. As
soon as the horse perceived them, he stamped upon the ground, and
cried aloud in a human voice: "Awake powerful son of the dragon,
Tugarin awake! Kiev sends heralds to thee."

This marvel considerably astounded the heralds, and their amazement
was increased when they beheld issuing from the tent a giant of the
most monstrous kind, beneath whose footsteps the earth resounded. Yet
they did not lose their composure, but discharged their commission as
beseemed them well. "Who art thou?" cried they, after they had
courteously bent before him. "Who art thou, bold youth from a foreign
land? What is thy name, and how stands thy report in thy father-land?
Art thou a Czar, or a Czarewitsch? A king or a king's son? We are sent
by the invincible prince of Kiev, the son of renown, by Vladimir, to
ask thee why thou darest to advance against Kiev?--how thou darest to
challenge him to combat?"

The questions displeased the giant, and he fell into fierce wrath.
Lightning flashed from his eyes, his nose sent forth sparks, and he
addressed the heralds in a voice of thunder: "Contemptible wights, how
dare ye to put such questions to me? The herald's staff alone protects
you from my fury. Return, and tell your prince that I am come to fetch
his head, in order to carry it to the great king, Trewul, of Bulgaria,
who is wrath with him, for the abduction of his sister Milolika. Tell
him, that nought can save him; neither the summit of the mountain,
nor the darkness of the forest, and that he cannot redeem his head by
gold, nor by silver, by jewels, nor by pearls. What I am called, and
what my report is in my country, it needs not that you should know;
sufficient, that I show you what I can perform." At these words, he
grasped an enormous stone, which lay near the tent, and flung it with
such force into the air, that it resembled a little speck.

Full of terror, the heralds returned to Kiev, and presenting
themselves before the monarch, related what they had seen and heard.
When Milolika heard that the horse had called the stranger knight
Tugarin, Son of the Dragon, she grew pale, and a stream of tears
bedewed her cheeks. "Ah," cried she, "beloved husband, we are lost!
Nought can save us, but our flight to the sacred Bug. Tugarin is an
invincible enchanter. His magic power ceases only on the shores of the
Bug. Thither let us fly."[1]

[Footnote 1: The river Bug was especially held sacred by the
Slavonians, and its waters possessed the power to destroy all kinds of
magic.]

Vladimir endeavoured to re-assure his consort. He represented to her
that the brave warriors, and the walls of the impregnable Kiev, would
afford them sufficient protection; but Milolika was not to be
comforted. "Thou knowest not, beloved husband," said she, sobbing and
crying, "how dangerous is this giant, Tugarin, to me and my family,
and how bitterly he must hate thee, since he was my betrothed, and
awaited my hand." Vladimir besought Milolika to explain to him this
enigma, and she related the following:--

"I am the daughter of the Bulgarian king, Bogoris, and of the princess
Kuridana. My birth-place is the city Shikotin, where my parents were
wont to pass the summer months. As this city lies on the banks of the
Volga, it offers great facilities for fishing, a diversion to which my
mother was extremely partial.

"Once, when my father was fighting against a neighbouring nation, my
mother endeavoured to while away her grief at his absence by her
accustomed diversion, and caused the nets to be spread in the Volga.
The fish were very plentiful, and a great number of barks and boats
covered the river, amongst which, the vessel in which my mother was
embarked, was distinguishable by its magnificence and elegance.
Surrounded by her ladies, and her body-guard, Kuridana stood in the
centre of the vessel, and beheld with pleasure the spectacle of the
fishery, when suddenly a mountain, that was situated on the other side
of the river, burst with a tremendous crash. Every eye was directed
to the spot, and they saw issue from the aperture, a man of rude, and
terrific aspect, seated on a car of shining steel drawn by two winged
horses. He directed his course towards the river, and when he reached
the water, the steel car rolled over the waves, as if they had been
firm land. When it was perceived that he was bending his way to my
mother's bark, heralds were dispatched in a boat, to inquire why he
presumed to approach the princess without permission. But the fierce
being, who was a powerful and malignant enchanter, did not permit the
unfortunate heralds to discharge their commission. As they began to
speak, he blew upon their boat, overset it, and all who were in it
were buried beneath the waves. At this melancholy sight, my mother's
attendants seized their bows, and discharged a shower of arrows
against the intruder; but in vain, for the arrows rebounded from him,
and fell shivered into the water.

"The greatest amazement now seized all present, for they became
petrified when the magician with a single word, bound every boat, with
its crew, so that they stood motionless, whilst he, with outstretched
arms, hastened towards my mother, and endeavoured to remove her into
his car. But some unseen power crippled all his efforts. Each time he
endeavoured to seize Kuridana, his arms sank powerless, and he was, at
length, obliged to desist from the vain enterprise. He then sprang
into the bark, cast himself on his knees before her, and in the most
moving, and earnest expressions, besought her love. He promised her
all the treasures of the world, and the highest earthly happiness, if
she would reward his vehement love with reciprocal affection, or only
lay aside the talisman which she wore upon her breast. This talisman,
which now preserved her, she had received at her birth from a
beneficent enchantress, and as she well knew its force, she had drawn
it out of the case where she usually concealed it, and held it before
his eyes.

"Then the evil one trembled so violently, that at last, as if stricken
by lightning, he fell to the ground, and not until Kuridana had again
enclosed the talisman, did he recover from his insensibility. He then
sprang up, and mounted his steel car, uttering the most fearful
threats, 'Think not,' cried he, foaming with shame and rage, 'think
not to escape my hands; I will possess thee, and will force Bogoris
himself, by the most dreadful devastation of his country, to yield
thee to me. Behold, I swear by Tschernobog,[2] that I will either,
slay, or gain possession of thee. Thou shalt see me soon again,' With
these words he disappeared.

[Footnote 2: Tschernobog was the evil spirit of the Slavonians, and no
one could swear more solemnly, than by Tschernobog.]

"Kuridana then left the spot, and not believing herself secure in
Shikotin, retired to the strong city of Boogord, where she awaited, in
great anxiety, the result of this alarming adventure.

"The very next morning, appeared on the plain before the capital city,
a dreadful two-headed monster, of that dragon species which, in the
language of my country, is called Sylant. It devoured herbs, and
flocks, and men, and devastated the surrounding country with its
poisonous breath. In a short time, the region round Boogord became a
desert, and many brave warriors, who sought to free their country of
this demon, fell victims to their patriotism and valour. The Sylant
appeared each morning before the walls, and bellowed out with a
fearful voice,: 'Bogoris, give me Kuridana, or I will make thy country
a desert!'

"No sooner did my father hear of the misfortune which menaced his
people, and his beloved Kuridana, than he left his career of victory,
and hastened to the capital. What were his feelings when he beheld
the misery which the monster had spread over his land! But greater
bitterness still awaited him, for when the first tempest of joy and
grief, which his return had excited in the hearts of all, and
especially in that of Kuridana, had subsided, this noble-minded
princess proposed herself as a willing sacrifice for the king, and the
good Bulgarians. 'No!' cried Bogoris, 'sooner will I perish, than lose
thee. I will combat the Dragon. Perhaps the Gods will grant me
victory, and if I am vanquished in the fight, at least I shall die for
thee, and for my country,' The most generous dispute now arose between
the magnanimous pair, and finally they agreed to appeal to the
decision of the magnates of the empire, who should decide the dispute.

"The king assembled them, and when they had heard Kuridana's
resolution, they loaded her with panegyrics, and expressions of
gratitude. 'Thy magnanimous sacrifice alone, Kuridana,' said the
eldest of the assembly, an aged man, of a hundred years, 'can rescue
us and Bulgaria. For, supposing that Bogoris were to fight with the
Sylant, and fall, would not our misfortune be greater still? No,
Prince! thou must preserve thyself for thy people, in order to heal
the wounds which the Dragon has inflicted. Kuridana alone can save
us.' All the magnates coincided with the old man, and Bogoris was in
despair.

"It was morning, and the dreadful words: 'Bogoris, give me thy wife!'
at that moment resounded round the palace. Kuridana courageously
arose, embraced her speechless husband, and bade him an eternal
farewell.

"At the words '_for ever_,' Bogoris sank senseless on the ground.
Manly as his heart had been up to that hour, it could not endure
separation from the beloved Kuridana. The high-minded wife bedewed him
with her tears, but at length, turning to the nobles, who stood round
her weeping, she said: 'Lead me where you will. I am prepared to
endure everything for my husband and my country,' They now
reverentially supported her trembling steps, and conducted her as
rapidly as her weak state permitted, to the front of the city.

"Meanwhile the altars smoked with incense, and both priests and people
supplicated for the deliverance of their noble princess.

"Shortly after the magnates had left the palace with Kuridana, Bogoris
came to himself, and when he perceived that he was alone, he guessed
his misfortune, and his despair knew no bounds. He drew his sword,
and was in the act of piercing his breast with it, in order not to
survive Kuridana, when a matron of beautiful and majestic aspect stood
before him, staid his hand, and thus addressed him:

"'What, Bogoris! Dost thou despair?--Be tranquil; the Sylant has no
power to harm Kuridana. The talisman which she wears on her breast,
will, at all times, and under all circumstances, mock his power. I am
the enchantress Dobrada, the protectress of thy wife, she who, as thou
knewest, hung the talisman around her immediately on her birth. But it
is not now requisite that I should reveal to thee the causes which
induced me to provide her with that shield against danger. Enough,
that I foresaw at her birth that she would have much to fear from the
love of a powerful sorcerer, called Sarragur. And because I am ever
willing to do all the good I can, I hung around her this talisman,
which protects her from his utmost power, and will now defend her from
the Sylant, who is no other than Sarragur himself. For, when he
perceived that I was opposed to his passion, and had taken Kuridana
under my protection, he sought to avenge himself on me, by every kind
of secret mischief, so that I was at length obliged to chastise him.
By my superior power, I enclosed him within a mountain by the Volga,
and bound his fate by the most awful spell, which even Tschernobog
respects, to a golden fish, which I sank in the depths of the Volga.
By this spell, Sarragur was to remain in his subterranean prison until
some mortal should draw up the golden fish; and should he ever thus
obtain his freedom, he could then never transform himself into an evil
and noxious animal, except on the condition that he should never again
resume his own form, and should perish shortly after the
transformation. It chanced that a sturgeon swallowed the golden fish,
and this sturgeon was caught on the very day when Kuridana was
diverting herself with the fishery. Sarragur thus became free, and the
first use he made of his freedom was to endeavour to carry off
Kuridana, whom he still loved with unabated passion.

"'When this attempt was baffled by the power of the talisman, and
still more, when he perceived Kuridana's aversion for him, he became
furious, and transformed himself into the Sylant, although he knew
what must be the consequences. Madman, his hour is come, and thou,
Bogoris, art destined to destroy him. Receive from my hands the sword
of the renowned Egyptian king, Sesostris. It possesses the wonderful
power of destroying every spell, and with it thou wilt overpower the
sorcerer, though he should summon all the powers of hell to succour
him. Only, mark what I am now about to say. In order to extirpate
Sarragur, and every remembrance of him from the earth, thou must cut
off both the heads of the Sylant by one stroke. If thou succeed not in
doing this, and hewest off but one head, the sorcerer, it is true,
will lose his life, but he will escape to his cavern, where, before he
expires, he will lay an egg, in which will be enclosed all his magic
power, and from the head hewn off, will arise a horse of stone, which
shall receive life at the moment the bad spirits shall have hatched
the egg, and from this egg will issue the giant Tugarin, who, one day,
will be formidable to thy children. For, not only will he inherit from
his father the entire power to work evil, whereby so much misery has
befallen thee and thy land, but he will also love thy daughter as
fiercely as Sarragur loves thy wife. Thy son Trewul will refuse him
his sister's hand, and then he will desolate the country, until
Milolika's hand is promised to him. He also is to be conquered by no
other weapon than the sword of the wise Sesostris, and a knight who
shall live without having been born, is destined to slay him. After
thy victory over the Sylant, hang up the sword in thy armoury amongst
the other swords there, and at the appointed time fate will give it
into the hands destined wield it. Of that which I have now told thee,
reveal not a word, except to thy wife, and she may hereafter repeat it
to her daughter.'

"Having uttered these words, Dobrada shrouded herself in a
rose-coloured cloud, and disappeared. Heavenly perfumes filled the
chamber, and Bogoris felt that all sorrow had vanished from his soul.
Hastily he vaulted on his horse, and rushed to deliver his wife and
his country from the fell sorcerer.

"When he reached the plain, he beheld the efforts of the Sylant to
grasp Kuridana, and how he was impeded by the talisman, from coming
close to her. Bogoris immediately unsheathed his sword, and flew upon
the monster. When the Sylant perceived his antagonist, he sent forth
fire streams from both his jaws, which, however, were rendered
innocuous by the sword of Sesostris. In order to bring the combat to a
speedy conclusion, Bogoris aimed a powerful stroke at the heads of the
monster, which would assuredly have separated both from the trunk, and
so have extirpated the sorcerer and all remembrance of him from the
earth, if the Sylant, at the very moment the stroke fell, had not
soared into the air. By this movement, he saved one head. The other
rolled on the ground, and immediately became stone. Awfully bellowing,
the impure being flew to his cavern. Bogoris pursued, but in vain; the
Sylant disappeared in the mountain by the Volga, which immediately
closed on him.

[Illustration]

"My father regretted that he had not succeeded in entirely
annihilating the sorcerer and all his brood; but joy at having
delivered his beloved wife and his country, soon prevailed over
sorrow. He committed the future to the Gods, and after he had revealed
to my mother the predictions of the good enchantress, he hung up the
sword of Sesostris in his armoury.

"My parents passed the remainder of their lives in uninterrupted peace
and content. When I was grown up, my mother related to me her history,
and at the same time revealed to me what awaited me through the giant
Tugarin. She then hung round me the talisman which she had received
from Dobrada. Shortly after this both my parents died. After their
death I lived several years with my brother in undisturbed
tranquillity, till one day the report arose of a wonderful phenomenon
of nature, which was to be seen in the vicinity of the capital. The
king, my brother, went thither, and I accompanied him. They showed us
a stone which daily increased in size, and was assuming the form of an
enormous horse. Everybody marvelled at this sport of Nature, as they
called it; but I remembered Dobrada's predictions, and doubted not
that the hour of Tugarin's birth, and of my misfortunes, was arrived.
Whilst I was still thinking on it, we were alarmed by an earthquake.
The neighbouring Sylant Mount,--for from the time the Sylant had
escaped thither, it had borne that name,--opened, and a giant of
monstrous size stepped forth. He strode across the Volga, and went
straight to the stone horse. The moment he laid his hand on it, it
became animated. The giant sprang upon it, and dashed towards me. He
tried to seize me, but quickly drew back his robber hands, as if they
had been burnt. The power of the talisman withstood him. He then
turned towards my brother, and cried out in dreadful tones:--'Hear,
Trewul! I see that thy sister cannot be carried off by force, and
therefore I require of thee to persuade her to give me her hand
voluntarily. I give thee three days for consideration, and when they
are expired, I either receive Milolika from thy hands, or I make thy
country desolate.' After these terrible words he departed on his
colossal steed, with the rapidity of lightning.

"We returned heavy-hearted to the city, where my brother immediately
assembled the council, and laid before it the giant's demand, and his
threats. The counsellors were unanimously of opinion, that, as the
princess was averse to giving her hand to the giant, an army must be
sent against him, of sufficient force to set his menaces at nought.
Ten thousand archers, and two thousand horsemen, in armour, were
hastily collected, and on the dawn of the third day, were drawn out
on the plain before the city, to await the giant. Tugarin soon
appeared, and the Bulgarians at once discharged their arrows and darts
at him, but they proved as powerless against him as formerly against
his father. They rebounded from him as from a rock. At this attack,
the giant broke forth with mingled rage and scorn:--'What,' bellowed
he, 'does Trewul send troops against me? Must I then become his enemy?
Woe to the helpless being!' And without further delay, he seized the
horsemen and archers by the dozen, and swallowed them a dozen at a
time, till not a man was left.

"He then began to lay waste and destroy everything round the city. Men
and cattle were all engulfed in the monster's insatiable maw. He
shattered the dwellings of the inhabitants with his gigantic fists.
Whole forests were uprooted by him, and the hoofs of his enormous
horse trod down fields and meadows. At length my brother, in order to
put a stop to the universal misery, resolved to sacrifice me. With
bitter tears he announced to me that he knew no other means of saving
himself and his country from destruction, than to promise my hand to
the giant. I replied to him only by my tears, and he reluctantly sent
an embassy to invite Tugarin to Boogord. He came. Proudly he advanced
to the gate where Trewul and the nobles of the land awaited him. I was
in despair. At length I bethought me of a means of escape. I agreed to
bestow my hand on the giant, on condition that, through some
beneficent power, he should first obtain the form and stature of an
ordinary man. I trusted that this would not easily be done, and in the
mean time I might be able to effect my escape. Tugarin, blinded by his
love for me, did not hesitate to accept the condition, and swore by
Tschernobog, that he would not require me to be delivered to him until
my requisition was satisfied. He established himself in Boogord, and
served my brother with great zeal. I soon found an opportunity of
making my escape, and wandering a whole day without food, was at last
taken by the robbers of the Volga, and brought to thy court.

"You will now, my beloved husband," said Milolika, as she concluded
her narration, "easily comprehend the danger which threatens you.
Tugarin must hate thee, since thou art my husband. His power is great,
and no one can vanquish him, except the knight who came unborn into
the world, and no weapon can slay him, but the sword of the wise
Sesostris. Thou and all thy brave heroes are powerless against him.
Therefore, dear husband, let us flee. On the banks of the sacred Bug
we shall be safe; no magic can operate there."

This narration made the deepest impression on the heart of the prince;
he could not, however, resolve to abandon his country in the hour of
need, and besides, to fly before a single warrior, great as he might
be, seemed still not a very honourable proceeding. "What!" exclaimed
he, "shall the monarch before whom the East trembles, whose courage
the whole world admires, shall he shrink in the moment of
danger,--shall he, with all his might, flee before a single foe? No:
sooner a hundred times will I die the most cruel death!" But with all
this how was he to comfort Milolika? How was he to withstand the
dreadful giant, seeing that he had not, unborn, beheld the light,
neither did he possess the sword of the Egyptian king Sesostris? These
difficulties weighed upon his soul. The first, however, he soon
disposed of. He bethought himself that the lime with which the walls
of Kiev were constructed, had been tempered with water from the sacred
Bug, and consequently would prevent the giant from entering the city.
This sufficed to tranquillise Milolika, who no longer insisted on
flight, as she perceived that her beloved Vladimir was just as secure
in Kiev, as he would be on the shores of the Bug. As far as she
herself was concerned, the giant could avail nothing, since the power
of the talisman would shield her from every danger. But still the
thought of the combat with this giant, greatly disturbed the prince.
"Where," said he, "is the unborn mortal who is destined, with the
sword of Sesostris, to destroy the fell Tugarin?"

Lo! suddenly a knight of bold and noble aspect, armed with a costly
sword, and cased in shining armour, but without shield or lance, rode
at full speed into the court of the palace. He sprang from his
spirited steed, and gave him to his lusty squire. Then he proudly
advanced up the steps, to the golden chamber of the great monarch, and
addressed Vladimir as follows:--"My name is Dobrünä Mikilitsch, and I
come to serve thee."

"Thou art welcome," replied Vladimir, "but how is it possible that
thou hast escaped the giant Tugarin, who holds the road to Kiev in
blockade?"

"Tugarin!" rejoined the knight, "_I_ fear him!--already would I have
laid his great head at thy feet, but that I desired to achieve that
deed in thy presence."

The monarch marvelled at the boldness of the stranger-youth, and
inquired if he seriously intended to combat the giant.

"Assuredly," said Dobrünä, "and with that object am I come to Kiev."

"But knowest thou not, that none can vanquish the giant, except only a
knight who came into the world unborn?"

"I know it," replied Dobrünä, "and that knight am I!"

"Hast thou, then, the sword of Sesostris?"

"Behold it," said Dobrünä, as he drew the sword from its scabbard,
"and if thou wilt permit me, mighty prince, to relate to thee my
history, thou wilt know that it is I who am appointed by destiny to
rid the earth of the monster Tugarin."

The monarch joyfully granted him permission, and Dobrünä thus
commenced:--

"It is true that I had both a father and a mother, but not the less
did I behold the light of the world without going through the process
of being born. Shortly before my mother would have brought me forth,
she was slain by robbers, during a journey she was making with my
father, to visit a relation. My father being also killed, I must
doubtless have perished, if the beneficent enchantress Dobrada, who
was just then passing by, had not rescued me, and taken me under her
protection. She carried me to the beautiful island, in the ocean,
where she usually dwells, and brought me up with the greatest care.
She nourished me with the milk of a lioness, bathed me several times a
day in the waves of the ocean, and inured me by day and night to
labour and privation. This mode of education rendered my body so
strong, that in my tenth year, I was already able to tear up the
strongest trees by the root. Six ancient men instructed me in all the
six-and-twenty known languages, and in arms, wherein I made such
progress, that in my fifteenth year I was able to parry at once all
the six swords of my teachers. Dobrada recompensed me for my diligence
with the shining armour I now wear, which possesses the virtue of
protecting my body from every danger.

"Shortly after that time, the enchantress whom I loved and honoured as
a mother, thus addressed me:--'Dobrünä Mikilitsch, thy education is
completed, and it is time that in foreign lands thou shouldst by
knightly deeds acquire renown and honour. Go forth: thou art destined
for great things. It is not permitted to me to reveal all the future
to thee; but thus much thou mayst know: thou wilt obtain possession of
the wondrous sword of the wise Sesostris of Egypt. As soon as thou
approachest it, the sword thou now wearest will fall of itself to the
earth, and that of Sesostris will become agitated. Take possession of
it in peace, for thou wilt require it, for a great service thou must
render to him in whose armoury thou wilt find it; for with it thou
wilt destroy a mighty sorcerer and giant, who has worked him much woe.
Whatever else thou mayst require during thy travels,' continued she,
'this ring will supply. Thou hast but to turn it three times on thy
finger, in order to see every reasonable wish fulfilled.'

"She then bade me enter a boat into which she followed me. The boat
shot through the waves like an arrow, and I presently sank into a
profound sleep. How long our journey was I know not; for when I awoke
I found myself alone on a vast plain, not far from a large city. But
Dobrada could not have long quitted me, for the heavenly perfumes
which ordinarily surrounded her, yet floated round me, and far in the
eastern horizon I saw the rose-coloured cloud which always shrouded
her. My soul was now filled with sadness at the thought that I was
now separated from the wise and kind Dobrada, whom I loved as my
mother.

"At length I regained my composure. I wished that I had a horse and
squire that I might ride into the city that lay near me, and as at the
same time I accidentally turned on my finger three times the ring,
whose virtue I scarcely recollected, I saw at once before me a squire
with two horses, of which I selected the finest and the most richly
adorned for myself, and left the other for my squire; and thus I rode
into the city.

"At the gate I was informed that the city was called Boogord, and was
the capital of the Bulgarian empire. Trewul reigned in Boogord, and
the giant Tugarin was at his court. The king had been obliged to
promise him the hand of his sister, in order to avert the total ruin
of his country, which the giant had devastated until Trewul had
acceded to his desire. When I appeared in the king's presence, I made
a very favourable impression on him, and he not only received me into
his service, but made me keeper of the armoury, the first dignity at
the Bulgarian court.

"From the first moment that Tugarin beheld me, he manifested the
bitterest hate towards me; and when I heard what evil he had brought
on Trewul and his land, I doubted not that he was the sorcerer and
giant I was destined to overthrow. But the sword of Sesostris was
still wanting to me. It was however not long before this invaluable
weapon came into my possession.

"I entered the royal armoury in order to inspect the weapons entrusted
to my care, and I had scarcely crossed the threshold when the sword I
wore fell to the ground, and amongst the numerous others that hung
there, I observed one moving to and fro. I could not doubt that this
was the wonderful sword of the Egyptian king with which I was to slay
the giant. I took possession of it with the greater confidence, from
the knowledge that by its aid I should rid Trewul of so dangerous an
enemy to himself and his family. I girded it upon me, and hung mine in
its place.

"From that moment the giant avoided me, knowing most likely by his
magic art that I was in possession of the sword that was to be fatal
to him, and ere long he disappeared from Boogord, telling the king he
was going in search of Milolika.

"I immediately took leave of the king, and set out in pursuit of the
giant. I gained information on my way that he had gone to Kiev, where
Milolika resided as thy wife. I hastened after him, and am come, as I
see, at the right moment to prevent misfortune. I now await thy
permission, mighty prince, to engage in combat thy enemy and mine."

As he concluded Dobrünä bent one knee before the monarch, who rose
from his seat, and taking the golden chain from his own neck, threw it
round the knight's with the following words: "Let this mark of my
favour prove to thee, Dobrünä Mikilitsch, how greatly I rejoice to
have so brave a knight in my service. To-morrow thou shalt engage the
giant, and I doubt not that thou wilt conquer." He then commanded that
an apartment should be prepared for him in the palace, and all due
honour be paid to him. Dobrünä returned thanks to the monarch for the
favours shown him, and took leave in order to repose after his
journey, and to gather strength for the approaching fight.

In the mean time the heralds by Vladimir's command went round the
city, and summoned the people to assemble on the walls the following
morning, to witness the combat between the knight and the sorcerer,
and the priests offered up solemn sacrifices to implore blessings on
Kiev and the knight against the malignant sorcerer and the powers
which aided him.

Scarcely had the purple-tinted Simzerla[3] spread her glowing mantle
over the sky, and decked the path of the great light of the world with
her thousand coloured rays, before the vast population of Kiev
impatiently thronged to the walls in order not to delay the grand
spectacle. The monarch attended by his consort and all the magnates of
the empire, ascended a tribunal which had been hastily erected over
the principal gate of the city for this great event.

[Footnote 3: Simzerla was the Aurora of the Slavonians.]

The clangor of trumpets and horns at length announced the arrival of
the knight. Ten thousand corsletted warriors rode with uplifted lances
before him, and drew up in two lines before the gate. After them, on a
richly caparisoned charger, rode the knight in his shining armour,
bearing in his hand the precious sword of Sesostris. The people
welcomed him with a cry of joy, and the warriors clashed their arms as
he appeared before the gate. With noble bearing and knightly aspect he
turned his horse and saluted the monarch by thrice lowering his sword.
"Great ruler of Russia," he began, "at thy command I go forth to fight
the sorcerer and giant Tugarin, who has presumed to challenge thee to
combat." "Go forth," replied Vladimir, "go forth, valiant youth, and
fight in my name the vile sorcerer: may the Gods give thee victory!"
Dobrünä then dashed at full speed through the lines of warriors to the
white tent, followed by the acclamations and the blessings of the
spectators.

The giant, who had been awakened by the unusual noise of the trumpets
and horns, and the joyful cries of the people, had already mounted his
horse, and was in the act of riding towards the city to ascertain the
cause, when he beheld the knight approaching. When he recognised in
him the dreaded keeper of the Bulgarian monarch's armoury, who was in
possession of the wonderful sword, he set up a fearful yell. Foaming
with rage he rushed with out-spread arms against the knight to grasp
him; but Dobrünä laughed at his impotent fury, and in order better to
overcome him, he first touched with his sword the enchanted horse,
which immediately crumbled into dust. He then caused the
magic-destroying weapon of the wise Sesostris to gleam over the head
of the sorcerer, who, by the sudden crumbling of his horse, had fallen
to the earth. Tugarin's destruction seemed inevitable, and the
beholders from the walls already shouted forth their plaudits to the
victor, when at once all the powers of hell broke forth to aid
their beloved son. A stream of fire crackled between the combatants,
fiery serpents hissed around the knight, and a thick cloud of smoke
enveloped the giant. But short was this infernal display. Dobrünä
touched the stream with his sword, made a few strokes with it in the
air, and the fiery flood and the hissing serpents vanished. He then
approached the smoke which concealed the giant, but scarcely had he
thrust his sword into it, when like the enchantments that also
disappeared. The giant was seen outstretched on the ground, and heard
to roar with terror. No sooner did he perceive that the smoke which
concealed him had vanished, than he sprang up and rushed, as if in
madness, on the knight. Dobrünä awaited him unmoved, and as the giant
stretched forth his monstrous hands for the second time to seize him,
he cut them both off with a single stroke. The second stroke of that
wondrous sword, wielded by the strong hand of the knight, severed the
vile head from the shoulders. The colossus fell, and the earth shook
beneath his weight.

[Illustration: THE DRAGON GIANT. P. 183.]

Then the people lifted up a cry of joy. A hundred thousand voices
shouted, "Long live our monarch, and the conqueror of the giant,
Dobrünä Mikilitsch!"

The knight, who had dismounted to raise the fallen enemy's head on
the point of his sword in sign of victory, was about to remount in
order to give the monarch an account of his combat, when he beheld him
coming towards him, accompanied by his consort and the magnates of the
empire. The courteous knight hastened forward and laid the giant's
head at his feet. The great prince embraced him in presence of the
assembled people, and placed on his finger a gold ring, whilst
Milolika hung around him a gold-embroidered scarf. Dobrünä bent his
knee and thanked the royal pair in graceful and courteous words for
these marks of favour. They then all returned full of joy to the city,
where the festivities and rejoicings in honour of the knight lasted
many weeks.

Vladimir also despatched messengers to his brother-in-law, Trewul, to
inform him of his marriage with the beautiful Milolika, and the
overthrow of their common enemy, the giant Tugarin. Dobrünä however
remained at the court of Vladimir, and performed many more great and
valiant deeds, which procured him great fame and honour, and rendered
great service to the monarch, and he became the most beloved and most
esteemed, both by prince and people, of all the knights in Vladimir's
court.




THE STORY OF SIVA AND MADHAVA.

[Sanskrit.]


There still exists a town famed for its splendour and richness, called
Ratnapura. In it there once dwelt two rogues, Siva and Madhava, who,
with the help of their confederates, contrived to make both rich and
poor of that place victims to their cunning and rapacity.

Once these two individuals met together to consult. "This town," they
said, "has so entirely been laid under contribution by us, that we can
have no reasonable hopes of any further success; let us, therefore, go
to Ujjayini, and settle ourselves down there. The house-priest of the
king, Sankar'aswarni by name, is considered a very rich man, and if,
by some contrivance, we could possess ourselves of his treasures, it
would be easy to curry favour with the charming and lovely women of
the Malavese. The Brahmins, without exception, call him avaricious and
miserly, for, though so rich that he measures his treasures by the
bushel, he begrudges every offering to their altars, and it is only on
compulsion he gives a portion of the dues. It is also well known that
he has a remarkably beautiful daughter, whom, if we once are able to
gain his confidence, one of us must receive as a wife from his own
hands."

After this, these two rogues, Siva and Madhava, having first matured
their plans and resolved upon the parts each individually was to play,
took their departure from the city of Ratnapura and soon arrived at
Ujjayini.

Madhava, disguised as a Rajput, remained with his followers in a small
village outside the city; but Siva, more versed in all the arts of
deceit, entered the town alone, garbed in the habit of a devout
penitent. He built a cell on an elevated place on the banks of the
Sipra, from whence he could be well observed, and here he laid on the
ground a deer-skin, a pot wherein to collect alms, some darbha-grass,
and some clay.

At the first dawn of morning he rubbed his whole body over with clay;
he then entered the river, and remained with his head for a
considerable time under the water; leaving the bath, he steadfastly
fixed his gaze on the sun, then, holding in his hand some kusa-grass,
he knelt before the image of a god, murmuring his prayers; he then
plucked holy flowers, which he sacrificed to Siva, and when his
offering was concluded he again began to pray, and remained long lost
in deepest devotion.

On the following day, in order to gather alms, he wandered through the
town, mute, as if dumb, leaning on a staff, and his only raiment
consisting of the small skin of a black gazelle. After having made his
collections at the houses of the Brahmins, he divided the gifts
received into three parts; the first he gave to the crows, the second
to the first person he met, and with the third he fed himself; then
slowly counting the beads of his rosary, with constant and fervent
prayers, he returned to his cell. The nights he devoted, apparently,
to deepest meditation, and to the solution of great religious and
philosophical questions.

Thus, by daily repeating these deceptions, he impressed on the
inhabitants so great an idea of his sanctity that he was universally
revered; and, when he passed, the people of Ujjayini reverentially
bowed and knelt before him, exclaiming, "This is, indeed, a holy
man!"

Meanwhile, his friend Madhava had, through his spies, received
intelligence of all these doings, and now, magnificently dressed like
a Rajput he also entered the city. He took up his abode in an adjacent
temple, and went to the banks of the Sipra to bathe in the river.
After having performed his ablutions, Madhava saw Siva, who, lost in
prayer, knelt before the image of the god. The former then, along with
his retinue, prostrated himself in reverence before the holy man; and
addressing the people around him, said, "There lives not on earth a
more devout penitent; more than once in my travels have I seen him,
when, as here, he has been visiting the sacred rivers and the holy
places of pilgrimage."

Though Siva had well observed and heard his companion, no feature
betrayed the fact; immoveably as before, he continued in his devotion.
Madhava soon after returned to his dwelling.

In the depth of night in a lonely place they again met, where, after
having well feasted, they consulted together upon their next
proceedings. At the dawn of morning Siva returned to his cell, and
Madhava commanded one of his companions at an early hour of the day as
follows: "Take these two robes of honour and present them to
Sankar'aswarni, the house-priest of the king, and address him
thus:--'A Rajput named Madhava, treacherously assaulted, and by his
nearest relations driven from his empire, has, with the vast treasures
of his father, taken refuge in these realms, and is anxious to present
himself before the king and offer him the faithful and gratuitous
services of himself and his brave followers. He has therefore sent me
to thee, thou ocean of fame, to beg thy permission to visit him.'" As
Madhava had commanded him, the follower, holding the robes of honour
in his hands, waited at the house of the priest. Watching a favourable
opportunity when the priest was alone, he presented himself before
him, laid the presents at his feet, and delivered Madhava's message.
The priest, full of dignity, received them condescendingly, and
longing for some of the treasures to which the messenger had made no
slight allusions, he graciously acquiesced in the demand.

Madhava consequently went the following day at a proper hour to visit
the priest, accompanied by his followers, dressed like courtiers, in
magnificent robes, and with silver spears in their hands. A messenger
was sent in advance to announce them, and the priest receiving them
at the entrance of his house, most reverentially saluted them, and
gave them the very best welcome. Madhava after having passed a short
time in pleasant conversation, and made a favourable impression on the
priest, returned to his own dwelling.

The following day he again sent two robes of honour, and then
presented himself to the priest, saying: "We are anxious as early as
possible to enter the service of the king, for time hangs heavily on
our hands; let our sole recompense be the honour of attending him, for
we have sufficient treasures for all our wants."

When the priest had heard this, hoping to extract large sums from him,
he granted his request, and immediately went to the king, who, out of
esteem and love for his religious adviser, at once permitted the
introduction of the Rajput at court.

On the following day the priest formally introduced Madhava and his
followers to the king, who graciously, and with honours received them,
and at once appointed the former to fill a high station in the
household, for he was greatly pleased with his appearance, which in
everything resembled that of a high-born Rajput. Thus was Madhava
fairly installed at court, but every night he went secretly to Siva,
to consult with him about their plans. Once the avaricious priest
said to Madhava, who with his rich presents had shown him marked
attention: "Come and live in my house," and as he pressed him very
much, Madhava and his followers removed to the spacious dwelling of
the priest.

Madhava had procured a great quantity of ornaments and trinkets set
with false stones, wondrously well imitated; these he had inclosed in
a jewel-box, which, slightly opening it that the priest might learn
its contents, he begged him to deposit in his treasury. By this
artifice he entirely won his confidence, and being thus secure, he
feigned illness, and by abstaining for several days from taking any
food, at last grew so thin and emaciated, that he had every appearance
of being in a very alarming state of health. A few more days thus
passed away, and the illness seemed to make rapid progress, when in a
faint voice he thus addressed the priest, who was sitting at the side
of his bed: "The malady which is devouring my strength and energies
seems a retribution from the Gods for some of the sins my flesh has
committed; bring therefore to me, O wise and pious man, some
distinguished Brahmin to whom I may bequeath my treasures to insure my
salvation here and there; for what man, even of ordinary wisdom
would, when life is ebbing, set value on gold or jewels!"

Whereupon the priest answered: "I will do as thou wishest."

Out of gratitude, Madhava knelt down and kissed his feet. But whatever
Brahmin the priest brought to the sick man, not one pleased him; he
said an inward voice told him that their life was not pure enough,
their favour with Brahma not sufficient. When this had been several
times repeated, with the same result, one of the rogues, who was
standing by, suggested in a low tone of voice, "As not one of all
these Brahmins seems worthy of the benefits intended to be conferred;
the holy priest, Siva, so celebrated for his sanctity, who dwells on
the shores of the Sipra, might be sent for: perhaps he might find
favour with our master."

Madhava when appealed to, sighed heavily, and as if unable in his
agony to articulate, bowed his head by way of consent. The priest
forthwith rose and went to Siva, whom he found absorbed in deepest
meditation. After having walked round him without being observed, he
at last placed himself on the ground facing him. The impostor having
finished his long-protracted prayers, raised his eyes, when the
priest reverentially saluted him, and said: "Most holy man, if thou
wouldst permit me, I have a petition to make to thee; there lives at
my house a very rich Rajput, by name, Madhava, born in the south, and
lately arrived from thence. He is dying, and wishes for some holy
individual to whom he may give his riches; if it should please thee, I
think it is for thee he intends all his treasures, which consist in
ornaments and jewels of inestimable value."

Siva having attentively listened to this, thoughtfully and slowly
answered: "Brahmin, how should I, whose whole earthly striving and
longing is after immortal reward; whose only aspiration is heaven,
there to have my prayers and my privations recognised and approved;
whose meagre maintenance is derived from alms of the charitable; how
should I feel any wish or desire for earthly possessions?"

Whereupon the king's priest answered: "Say not so, noble and pious
man! Well you know the pleasure of the God towards the Brahmin-priest,
who in his own person is able to offer hospitality to the Gods and to
man; who within his own house can welcome and relieve the devout
pilgrim; who with rich contributions can assist in the embellishments
of their temples and the splendour of their service, and who by
taking a wife can extend his sphere of utility and philanthropy. Only
by the possession of treasures these things are achievable, therefore
it is laudable in man to strive after wealth. The father of a family
is the best of Brahmins."

To which Siva answered: "Whence should I take a wife? My poverty
prevents my alliance with any great family."

When the priest heard this he thought the treasures already his own,
and having found a favourable opportunity, he said to him: "I have an
unmarried daughter, her name is Vinyasvamini; she is most beautiful;
her I will give thee to wife. The treasure that will be thine through
the generosity of Madhava, I will guard and preserve for thee; choose,
therefore, the pleasures and the bliss of the married state."

Siva attentively and with inward pleasure listened to the words of the
priest, in which he saw their deep-laid scheme and their anxious
wishes brought into fulfilment, and with diffidence he answered:
"Brahmin, if by so doing I shall be able to please you and gain your
favour, I consent to it; and as regards the treasure, to you I leave
the whole and sole control and management thereof, as neither my
understanding nor inclination lies in that direction."

Rejoiced at this answer of Siva, the priest forthwith took him into
his house, assigned him a suite of apartments there, and announced to
Madhava his arrival and what he had done, for which the latter warmly
thanked him. Next the priest gave his unhappy daughter in marriage to
Siva, thus sacrificing her to his avarice; and on the third day after
the nuptials he led the bridegroom to Madhava, who now assumed a
faintness as if in the last gasp of dissolution. After a pause,
apparently rallying all his strength, he said: "In deepest humiliation
I salute thee, most holy man, and beg of thee to accept, as I am dying
and shall have no use for it, all that I possess of earthly wealth."
He then had the artfully imitated jewels brought from the priest's
treasury, and according to the sacred rites and customs on such
occasions, had them presented to Siva. The latter, in accepting them,
handed them over to the priest without even looking at them, saying,
"Of such things I understand nothing, but you know their value."

"I will take care of them, as agreed between us," answered the priest;
and again deposited the supposed treasure in its former place of
security. Siva, after having in solemn words pronounced his blessing
over Madhava, returned to the apartments of his wife.

The following day Madhava seemed already greatly recovered, and
ascribed this wonderful change to the influence of his gift and the
holiness of the man on whom he had bestowed it. In warmest terms, he
thanked the priest for his kind interference, and assured him of his
everlasting gratitude. With Siva he now openly allied himself,
praising him every where, and declaring that through his great powers
alone his life had been preserved.

After the lapse of a few days Siva said to the priest, "It is not
right that I thus should continue to live in thy house where I must be
of vast expense to thee; thou hadst better give me a sum, if only
corresponding with half the value of the gems, which you consider so
precious."

The priest, who in reality priced these jewels and ornaments at an
inestimable sum, a sum capable of purchasing an empire, was very glad
to assent to such a proposition; and with the idea of giving something
like the twentieth part of their value, he gave him all the money he
possessed. He then had documents drawn out, in which on both sides the
exchange of the properties was legally secured, for fear that Siva in
the course of time might repent of his bargain. They then separated,
Siva and his wife living in greatest joy and happiness, and soon they
were joined by Madhava, with whom the former now divided the treasures
of the priest.

After some years the priest wanted money to make some purchase, and
taking a part of the ornaments, he went to a goldsmith who had a stand
in the market to offer them for sale. This man, who was a great judge,
after narrowly examining them, cried out, full of astonishment--"The
man who has manufactured these must indeed be a great artisan; for
though of no intrinsic value, they are the finest and most wonderful
imitations that ever were worked out of such materials; for these
stones are nothing but glass, and the setting nothing but gilt metal."

Having heard this, the priest, breathless though full of despair, ran
back to his house, fetched the contents of the whole casket, and,
unwilling to believe, went from one merchant to the other to have his
treasure examined; but in every instance the answer was the
same--"Only glass and brass!" The priest, as if he had been struck by
lightning, fell senseless on the ground, and had to be carried home;
but early the following morning having recovered, he ran to Siva and
said to him, "Take back thy jewels, and return me my money."

This the other refused, alleging that the greater part of it had
already been expended, and the rest he had so invested as to be most
useful for his wife and children.

Thus disputing they both went before the king, on whom Madhava at the
time was in attendance. The priest in the following words made the
king acquainted with his case: "Behold, my gracious king, these
ornaments; they are all artfully manufactured out of valueless metal,
coloured pieces of glass and crystal. Without knowing this, and
believing them real, I have given Siva my whole fortune in exchange
for them, and he already has spent it."

To which Siva answered: "From my very childhood, mighty king, have I
lived in holy seclusion and devotion; from this seclusion the father
of my wife drew me forth, pressed and entreated me to accept the gift
of honour, with the value of which I was wholly ignorant; but he
assured me he was aware of its great pecuniary worth, and he would
guarantee it to me. On my accepting it, without even giving it a look,
I handed it over to him: he afterwards voluntarily purchased it from
me, giving me his own price, and in proof of this I adduce this
contract in his own handwriting: now, mighty ruler, judge between us;
I have in truth laid the case fairly before you."

Siva having thus concluded his defence, Madhava addressed himself to
the priest, saying: "Speak not derogatorily of this holy man, now your
son. Whatever the cause of your grievance, he is innocent, as you
yourself are good and upright; but I also owe an explanation to my
liege and master. In what way can I have committed myself?--neither
from you nor him have I taken or accepted the least benefit. The
fortune my father left me I had for years given into the custody of an
old and tried friend of our house; removing it from thence I presented
it, under the circumstances your majesty is aware of, to this Brahmin.
But if they had not been real gems, but only worthless metal and glass
as this worthy priest intimates, by what means was my restoration to
health so wonderfully wrought? That I gave it with pure and honest
intention, witness for me the all but miracle by which I was saved!"

Thus spoke Madhava without changing a feature; but the king and his
ministers laughed, and testified the good opinion they entertained for
him. They then pronounced the following judgment:--"Neither Siva nor
Madhava are in the least to blame, they are wholly innocent."

In sorrow and shame the priest went his way, robbed of his whole
fortune, and punished for his avarice and the heartless manner in
which he had sacrificed his daughter; though fortunately for her and
no thanks to her father, she found in Siva a good and affectionate
husband.

The two rogues altered their mode of life: thenceforward they walked
in the path of virtue and well-doing; and favoured by the king, whom
they faithfully served, they lived many years honoured, respected, and
happy in Ujjayini.




THE GOBLIN BIRD.

[Betschuanian, South Africa.]


Two brothers one day set out from their father's hut, to seek their
fortune. The name of the elder one was Maszilo, the younger one was
called Mazziloniane. After a few days' journeying they reached a
plain, from which branched two roads; the one led eastwards, the other
westwards. The first road was covered with the footmarks of cattle,
the other with the footmarks of dogs. Maszilo followed the latter
road, his brother went in the opposite direction.

After some days travelling Mazziloniane passed a hill which formerly
had been inhabited, and felt not a little astonished at beholding a
great quantity of earthen vessels, all of which were placed upside
down. In the hope of finding some treasure concealed under them, he
removed several, until he came to one of immense size. Mazziloniane,
gathering all his strength, gave it a violent push, but the vessel
remained immoveable. The young traveller now doubled his exertions,
but in vain. Twice he was obliged to fasten the girdle round his
loins, which through his exertions had burst; the vessel seemed as if
rooted to the ground. But all at once, as if by magic, it was upset by
a slight touch, and revealed to the youthful and trembling
Mazziloniane, a hideous and deformed giant.

[Illustration]

"Why dost thou disturb me?" demanded the monster, in a voice of
thunder.

Mazziloniane, having recovered from his first fright, observed with
horror that one of the legs of the giant was as thick as the stem of a
large tree, whilst the other was of an ordinary size.

"As a well-merited punishment for thy temerity in disturbing me, thou
shalt henceforth carry me about;" and so saying the monster jumped on
the shoulders of the unfortunate youth, who, unable to support such a
weight, fell prostrate on the ground. Recovering himself with
difficulty, he endeavoured to advance a few steps, and again he fell
to the earth, his strength now wholly failing him. But the sight of an
eland, which was swiftly passing by, presented to his mind the means
of delivery.

"Dear father," said he, with trembling voice, to the abortion,
"release me for a moment; the reason why I cannot carry you is that I
have nothing wherewith to fasten you to my back; give me a few moments
to kill the eland which has just passed by, and out of its hide I will
cut some thongs for that purpose."

His demand was granted, and with the dogs that had accompanied him he
disappeared from the plain. After he had run a considerable distance
he took refuge in a cavern. But the thick-legged monster, tired of
waiting, soon followed, and wherever he discovered a footmark of the
youth, he in a mocking voice cried out:--

"The pretty little footmark of my dear child, the pretty little
footmark of Mazziloniane."

The youth heard him approaching, and felt the ground tremble under his
steps. Seized with despair he left the cavern, and calling his dogs,
he set them on the enemy; stroking and encouraging them, he said--

"On! my brave dogs, kill him, devour him, but leave his thick leg for
me."

The dogs obeyed the command of their master, and soon there was
nothing left but the deformed and shapeless leg, which now he
fearlessly approached, and with his axe cut into pieces, and, O
wonder! out of it came a herd of most beautiful cows, one of them
being as white as the driven snow; overjoyed he drove the cattle
before him, taking the road leading to his father's hut.

Meanwhile the other brother having got possession of a great number of
dogs, he also returned towards his home, and they both now met on the
same place where they so shortly before had separated. The younger
embracing the elder brother, offered him part of his herd, saying to
him: "As fortune has favoured me most, take what you like, but you
must leave me the white cow, for to no one else can she ever belong."

But Maszilo seemed to have placed his every desire upon this very
animal; regardless of all the rest, he begged and intreated his
brother to give up to him the possession thereof; but in vain were his
prayers. Having journeyed together for two days, on the third day they
came to a spring--"Let us tarry here," said Maszilo, "I am faint and
exhausted with thirst; let us dig a deep hole, and convey the water
into it, that it may get cool and fresh."

When they had dug the well, Maszilo went in search of a great flat
stone, and with it covered the hole to protect the water from being
heated by the rays of the sun; after the water had been sufficiently
cooled, Maszilo drank first. His brother was now going to do the same,
but the moment he bent himself over the well, Maszilo suddenly taking
him by the hair, forced his head under the water, and held it there
until he was suffocated; he then pushed the corpse into the hole, and
covered it over with the stone.

With drooping head, though now sole master of the herd, the murderer
proceeded on his journey, but hardly had he advanced a few steps, when
a little bird perched on the horn of the white cow, and in a mournful
tune sang: "Tsiri! tsiri! Maszilo killed Mazziloniane to get
possession of the white cow which the murdered brother so much loved."

Enraged, he killed the bird with a stone, but hardly had he
sufficiently recovered himself to proceed on his journey, when the
bird again came flying, placed itself on the same spot, and repeated
the same words; Maszilo again killed him with a stone, and then
crushed him with his heavy staff; but within a few minutes the bird
reappeared for the third time, again perching on the horn of the cow,
and repeating the same words.

"Ah, Demon!" cried Maszilo, choking with rage, "I will try a more
effectual way to silence thee;" whereupon he threw his staff at the
hated little bird, who in such doleful tunes had stirred up and
upbraided his conscience-stricken soul: he again killed it, and then
lighting a fire, in it he burnt the bird to ashes, which he scattered
in the winds.

[Illustration: THE GOBLIN BIRD. P. 207.]

Now convinced that the goblin-bird would return no more, Maszilo, full
of pride and hardiness, returned to his father's dwelling. On his
arrival there, he was surrounded by all the villagers, who, full of
curiosity, gathered around him, in admiration of the rich flock, and
praised his good fortune, but the first impulse of their curiosity
satiated, they almost with one voice inquired "Where is Mazziloniane?"

"I know not; we went different ways," answered he.

Many of his relations now surrounded the white cow, and exclaimed: "Oh
how beautiful she is! what fine hair! what a pure colour! happy the
man that owns such a treasure!"

Suddenly, their exclamations were changed into deep silence, for upon
one of the horns of the much-admired animal appeared a little bird,
singing in most melancholy strains, "Tsiri! tsiri! Maszilo killed
Mazziloniane, to get possession of the white cow which the murdered
brother so much loved."

"What! has Maszilo killed his brother?" all exclaimed, and, full of
horror, turned away from the murderer, unable to account to themselves
for the emotion he inspired, and the strangeness of the disclosure.
Infuriated, they drove Maszilo from their home, into the desert: in
the confusion this occasioned, the little bird flew to the murdered
man's sister, and whispered in her ear, "I am the soul of
Mazziloniane; Maszilo has killed me; my body lies in a well near the
desert, go bury it--" and then the bird flew back into the desert,
evermore to be the companion of the murderer.




THE SHEPHERD AND THE SERPENT.

[German, Traditional.]


In a peaceful, pleasantly situated little village, there once lived a
poor shepherd youth. Near the village was a valley, a lonely retired
spot, whither the youth always guided his flock; and it seemed as
though he had selected that quiet valley for his favourite retreat. He
never took his noon-day meal, nor lay down to repose in the cool
shade, except in that beloved place. Thither was he ever drawn by an
irresistible longing.

The place itself was simple enough--a rugged block of stone, beneath
which murmured a little rivulet, and a wild cherry-tree which
overshadowed the stone with its leafy branches, were all that was to
be seen there; but the youth felt happy when he spread his meal upon
that stone, and drank from that streamlet. When, after having partaken
of his meal, he stretched himself to rest upon the stone, he would
fancy he heard a mysterious singing, and sometimes a sighing too,
beneath it; he would then listen and watch, but would finally slumber
and dream. His spirit seemed to be ever wrapped in mysterious
unearthly happiness. On going forth with his flocks in the morning,
and returning home with them in the evening, this unaccountable
longing seemed always to take possession of him. He liked not to
accompany the throng of merry village youths and maidens who went
about singing and frolicking on festive evenings, but preferred to
walk alone, silent and even melancholy. But when the fair morning
dawned again, and he went forth with his lambs over heath and meadow,
his spirit grew ever more serene as he drew nearer to the beloved
stone and to the shade of the dear cherry-tree. It often happened,
too, that whilst he rested there and played upon his flute, a
silver-white serpent came out from under the stone, and after
wreathing herself caressingly at his feet, would then erect herself
and gaze upon the shepherd, until two big tears would roll from her
eyes, and then she softly slid back again: on these occasions a still
more peculiar and strange feeling filled the shepherd's heart.

At length he altogether ceased to associate with the merry band of
youths and maidens; their mirthsome noise was unpleasant to him;
whilst, on the contrary, the still solitude became more and more dear
to him.

One lovely Sunday in the spring time--it was Trinity Sunday, which the
peasants call "Golden Sunday," and which they always keep with
especial festivity--when the youth of the village were to have a merry
dance beneath the linden-trees, the pensive shepherd boy, drawn by
that inexpressible longing, directed his steps at mid-day to the
lonely valley of the stone and cherry-tree. He gazed serenely upon the
dear spot, and then sat down and listened musingly to the rustling of
the leaves and the mysterious sounds under the stone, when suddenly a
bright light shone before his eyes, a pang of terror shot through his
heart, and looking up he saw a beauteous form arrayed in white like an
angel, standing before him with a soft expression and folded hands,
whilst with transported senses he heard a sweet voice thus address
him: "O youth, fear not, but hear the supplication of an unhappy
maiden, and do not drive me from thee, nor flee from my misfortune. I
am a noble princess, and have immense treasures of pearls and gold;
but for many hundred years I have languished under enchantment, have
been banished beneath this stone, and am doomed to glide about in the
form of a serpent. In that shape I have often gazed on thee and
conceived the hope that thou mayest release me. Thou art still pure in
heart as a child. Only once throughout the whole year, this very hour
on Golden Sunday, am I permitted to wander on the earth in my own
form; and if I then find a youth with a pure heart, I may implore him
for my deliverance. Release me then, thou beloved one! release me, I
implore thee by all that is holy!"--The maiden sank at the shepherd's
feet, which she clasped as she looked up to him weeping. The heart of
the youth heaved with transport; he raised the angelic maiden and
faltered out: "Oh say only what I must do to free thee, thou fair
beloved one!"

"Return hither to-morrow at the same hour," replied she, "and when I
appear before thee in my serpent form, and wind myself around thee,
and thrice kiss thee, do not, oh! do not shudder, else must I again
languish enchanted here for another century!" She vanished, and again
a soft sighing and singing issued from beneath the stone.

On the following day, at the hour of noon, the shepherd, not without
fear in his heart, waited at the appointed place, and supplicated
Heaven for strength and constancy at the trying moment of the
serpent's kiss. Already the silver-white serpent glided from beneath
the stone, approached the youth, twined herself round his body, and
raised her serpent head, with its bright eyes, to kiss him. He
remained steady, and endured the three kisses. A mighty crash was then
heard, and dreadful thunders rolled around the youth, who had fallen
senseless on the ground. A magic change passed over him, and when he
was restored to his senses, he found himself lying on white cushions
of silk, in a richly-adorned chamber, with the beautiful maiden
kneeling by his couch, holding his hand to her heart. "Oh, thanks be
to Heaven!" exclaimed she, when he opened his eyes; "receive my
thanks, beloved youth, for my deliverance, and take as thy reward my
fair lands, and this palace with all its rich treasures, and take me
too as thy faithful wife: thou shalt henceforth be happy, and have
plenitude of joy!"

And the shepherd was happy and joyful; that longing of his heart which
had so often drawn him towards the stone, was gloriously satisfied. He
dwelt, remote from the world, in the bosom of happiness, with his
fair spouse; and he never wished himself back on earth, nor amongst
his lambs again. But in the village there was great lamentation for
the shepherd who had so suddenly vanished: they sought him in the
valley, and by the stone under the cherry-tree, whither he had last
gone, but neither the shepherd, nor the stone, nor the cherry-tree
were to be found any longer; and no human eye ever again beheld any
trace of either.




THE EXPEDITIOUS FROG.

[Wendian.]


A fox came one day at full speed to a pond to drink. A frog who was
sitting there, began to croak at him. Then, said the fox, "Be off with
you, or I'll swallow you."

The frog, however, replied: "Don't give yourself such airs; I am
swifter than you!"

At this the fox laughed; but as the frog persisted in boasting of his
swiftness, the fox said at length: "Now, then, we will both run to the
next town, and we shall see which can go the faster."

Then the fox turned round, and as he did so, the frog leapt up into
his bushy tail. Off went the fox, and when he reached the gate of the
city, he turned round again to see if he could spy the frog coming
after him. As he did so, the frog hopped out of his tail on the
ground. The fox, after looking all about without being able to see the
frog, turned round once more in order to enter the city.

Then the frog called out to him: "So! you are come at last? I am just
going back again, for I really thought you meant not to come at all."




EASTWARD OF THE SUN, AND WESTWARD OF THE MOON.

[Norwegian.]


In days of yore there lived a poor charcoal-burner who had many
children. His poverty was so great, that he knew not how to feed them
from day to day, and they had scarcely any clothes to cover them.
Nevertheless all the children were very beautiful, but the youngest
daughter was the most beautiful of them all.

Now it happened on a Thursday evening, late in the autumn, that a
terrible storm came on. It was dark as pitch, the rain came down in
torrents, and the wind blew till the windows cracked again. The whole
family sat round the hearth, busy with their different occupations;
suddenly some one gave three loud knocks at the window; the man went
out to see whom it could be, and when he got outside the door, he saw
standing by it, a great white bear.

"Good evening to you!" said the bear.

"Good evening!" said the man.

"I have called," said the bear, "to say that if you will give me your
youngest daughter in marriage, I will make you as rich as you now are
poor."

The man thought that would not be amiss, but he considered that he
must first consult his daughter on the subject; so he stepped in, and
told her that a great white bear was outside the door, who had
promised to make him as rich as he was now poor, provided he would
give him his youngest daughter in marriage. The maiden, however, said
"No," and would hear nothing at all about the matter; so the man went
out again, spoke very civilly to the bear, and told him to call again
next Thursday evening, and in the mean time he would try what could be
done. During the week they tried to persuade the maiden, and told her
all kinds of fine things as to the riches they were to have, and how
well she herself would be provided for, till at last she consented. So
she washed the two or three things she had, dressed herself as well as
she could, and made herself ready for the journey.

[Illustration: EASTWARD OF THE SUN AND WESTWARD OF THE MOON. P. 219.]

When the bear returned the following Thursday evening, all was ready:
the maiden took her bundle in her hand, seated herself on his back,
and off they went. When they had gone a good way, the bear asked her:
"Do you feel sad?"

No, that she did not in the least.

"Mind you hold fast by my shaggy coat," said the bear, "and then there
will be nothing to fear."

Thus she rode on the bear's back far far away--indeed nobody can say
precisely how far it was--and at last they arrived at a great rock.
The bear knocked, and a door opened, through which they entered a
large castle, in which were a great many rooms, all lighted with
lamps, and glittering with gold and silver: there was also a grand
saloon, and in the saloon stood a table covered with the most costly
viands. The bear then gave her a silver bell, which he told her to
ring when she wanted anything, and it would immediately be brought to
her. Now after she had eaten and drunk, and towards evening grew
tired, and wished to go to bed, she rang her bell, and immediately a
door opened into a chamber, where there was as beautiful a bed as she
could wish for, ready prepared for her; the pillows were covered with
silk, and the curtains fringed with gold, and all her toilette
utensils were of silver and gold. As soon, however, as she had
extinguished the light, and lay down in her bed, some one came and
lay down by her side, and this happened every night; but she could
never see who it was, as the person never came till after the light
was put out, and always went away before day-break.

Thus she lived for some time, contented and happy, till at length she
felt so great a desire to see her parents, and brothers and sisters,
that she grew quite dull and melancholy. Then the bear asked her one
day why she was always so still and thoughtful.

"Ah!" replied she, "I feel so lonely here in the castle, for I so much
wish to see my parents, and brothers and sisters, once more."

"That you can easily do," said the bear, "but you must promise me that
you will never converse with your mother alone, but only when all the
others are present; for she will try to take you by the hand and lead
you into another room, in order to speak to you alone, but do not
consent to it, for if you do, she will make both you and me unhappy."

The maiden said she would be very careful to do as he desired her.

The following Sunday the bear came to her, and said she might now
begin her journey to her parents. She seated herself on his back, and
they commenced their journey. After they had travelled a very long
time, they came to a great white castle, and she saw her sisters going
in and out, and all was so beautiful and grand, it was quite a
pleasure to behold it.

"That is where your parents dwell," said the bear, "now do not forget
what I have said to you, or you will make yourself and me very
miserable."

She would not forget, repeated the maiden, and she entered the castle;
the bear, however, went back again. When her parents saw their
daughter, they were more delighted than it is possible to express.
They could not thank her enough for what she had done for them, and
they told how wonderfully comfortable they were now, and inquired how
matters went with her. Oh, she also was very happy, returned the
maiden, she had everything she could desire. What else she told them,
I do not exactly know, but I believe it was no every-day tale that she
told them. In the afternoon, when they had dined, it happened exactly
as the bear had foretold; the mother wanted to talk with her daughter
in private, but the maiden remembered what the bear had said, and
would not go with her, but said: "Oh, we can say what we have got to
say, quite as well here."

Now, how it happened, I cannot tell, but all I know is, that her
mother persuaded her at last, and then she got the whole history from
her. The maiden related how some one came into her bed every night,
but that she had never seen who it was, and that made her so uneasy,
and the day seemed very long to her, because she was always alone.

"Who knows!" said the mother, "surely it must be some wizard who
sleeps by you; but if you will take my advice, when he is fast asleep,
get up and strike a light, and see who it is; but be careful not to
let any grease drop upon him."

In the evening the bear came to fetch the maiden home. When they had
gone a good way he asked her if it had not happened as he had told
her.

"Yes," she could not deny that it had.

"Have you listened to your mother's counsel?" said the bear; "if you
have, you have ruined yourself and me, and our friendship is at an
end."

"No," she had not done so, replied she.

Now when they had got home, and the maiden had gone to bed, the same
happened as usual, some one came and lay down by her. During the
night, however, when she heard that he was asleep, she rose and
kindled a light, and then she saw lying in her bed the handsomest
prince that can be imagined, and she immediately loved him so well,
that she could not refrain from kissing him that very moment. But as
she did this, she accidentally let three drops of oil fall from her
lamp, upon his shirt, and thereupon he awoke.

"What have you done?" cried he, as he opened his eyes; "now you have
made yourself and me unhappy for ever. If you had but held out for a
year, I should have been delivered; for I have a step-mother who has
enchanted me, so that by day I am a bear, but at night I become a man
again. But all is over for us both, for I must now leave you, and
return to her. She dwells in a castle which lies _eastward of the
Sun_, and _westward of the Moon_, and there I shall be obliged to
marry a princess who has a nose three ells long."

The maiden then began to weep and bemoan herself; but it was too late,
the prince was obliged to go. She asked him if she might not accompany
him.

"No," said he, "that must not be."

"Can you not then tell me the road that I may find you?" inquired
she; "for I suppose I may be allowed that."

"Yes, that you are right welcome to do," said he; "but there is no
road that leads to it; for the castle lies eastward of the Sun, and
westward of the Moon, and you will never get there."

In the morning when she awoke, the prince and the castle had both
vanished, and she found herself lying on the bare earth, in a thick
dark forest, and she was dressed in her old clothes, and near her lay
the same bundle that she had brought with her from her former home.
When she had rubbed her eyes till she was quite awake, and had cried
till she could cry no longer, she began her journey, and wandered for
many a long day, till at last she came to a great mountain. At the
foot of the mountain sat an old woman, playing with a golden apple;
the maiden asked her if she could tell her the way to where the prince
lived with his step-mother, in a castle which was situated eastward of
the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and who was to marry a princess who
had a nose three ells long.

"How come you to know him?" asked the woman. "Can you be the maiden
whom he wished to marry?"

"Yes," she replied, "she was that maiden."

"So! then you are the chosen one!" resumed the woman; "ah! my child,"
continued she, "I would willingly help you, but I myself know nothing
more of the castle than that it lies eastward of the Sun, and westward
of the Moon, and that you are almost certain never to get there; I
will, however, lend you my horse, and you may ride on him to my next
neighbour; perhaps she may be able to tell you the way thither, but
when you have reached her, just give the horse a pat under the left
ear, and bid him go home again; and now take this golden apple, for
perhaps you may find a use for it."

The maiden mounted the horse, and rode for a long, long, time; and at
last arrived at another mountain, where sat an old woman with a golden
reel. The maiden asked her if she could tell her the way to the
castle, which lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon. This
old woman, however, said just like the other, that she knew nothing
more about the castle than that it lay eastward of the Sun, and
westward of the Moon, "and you are almost sure never to find it,"
added she, "but I will lend you my horse to ride upon to my next
neighbour, and perhaps she may tell you the way; when you get there,
however, just give the horse a pat under his left ear, and tell him
to go home; now take this reel, for perhaps you may find some use for
it."

The maiden seated herself on the horse, and rode for many days and
weeks; at last she again arrived at a mountain where an old woman sat
spinning with a golden distaff. The maiden now again inquired about
the prince, and the castle which was situated eastward of the Sun, and
westward of the Moon.

"Are you she whom the prince wished to marry?" asked the woman.

"Yes," replied the maiden.

But this old woman knew no more about the castle than the two others.

"Eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, lies the castle, and
you are almost certain never to get there. But I will lend you my
horse, and you may ride upon him to the East Wind; perhaps he may be
able to tell you the way, but when you get to him, give the horse a
pat under the left ear, and bid him go home, and now take this golden
distaff, you will probably have occasion for it."

She rode now a very long time, and at last arrived where the East Wind
dwelt, and asked him if he could not tell her how to get to the
prince who lived in the castle which lay eastward of the Sun, and
westward of the Moon.

"Truly, I have often heard tell of the prince, and of the castle too,"
said the East Wind, "but I cannot tell you the way, for I have never
blown so far; but I will carry you to my brother, the West Wind;
perhaps he may know, for he is much stronger than I am. You have only
to seat yourself on my back, and I will bear you thither."

The maiden seated herself on his back, and off they went. When they
reached the West Wind, the East Wind told him that he had brought a
maiden who was to marry the prince who dwelt in the castle that lay
eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and asked if he could
tell the way thither.

"No," answered the West Wind. "I have never blown so far. But," said
he, addressing the maiden, "you may seat yourself on my back, and I
will carry you to the South Wind; he may be able to tell you, for he
is much stronger than I, and blows and blusters every where."

So the maiden seated herself on his back, and when they had reached
the South Wind, the West Wind asked him if he did not know the way to
the castle which lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon,
for the maiden whom he had brought with him, said he, was to marry the
prince who dwelt there.

"I have blown pretty far, and pretty strong in my time," said the
South Wind, "but I never went so far as that. If, however, you desire
it," said he to the maiden, "I will carry you to my brother, the North
Wind, who is the eldest and strongest of us all, and if he cannot tell
you the way, you may rest assured you will never find it."

The maiden seated herself on his back, and off they went at such a
rate that the plain heaved again.

In a very short time they reached the North Wind; but he was so wild
and turbulent that long before they got up to him, he blew, I know not
how much snow and ice, in their faces.

"What do you want?" cried he, in a voice that made their skin creep.

"Oh, you must not be so rough with us," said the South Wind; "for here
am I, your own brother, and this is the maiden who is to marry the
prince who dwells in the castle which lies eastward of the Sun, and
westward of the Moon, and she is very desirous to ask you if you
cannot give her some information about it."

"Yes, I know full well where it lies," said the North Wind; "I wafted
an aspen leaf thither, once; but I was so fatigued that I could not
blow for many a long day afterwards. If, however, you are resolved to
go," said he to the maiden, "and are not afraid, I will take you on my
back and try whether I can waft you so far."

"Yes," said the maiden, "there I must and will go, by all possible
means, and I will not be frightened either, let it be as bad as it
may."

"In that case you must pass the night here," said the North Wind; "for
we must have the whole day before us, if we are to go there."

Early the next morning the North Wind awakened her, got himself into
breath, and grew so large and strong, that it was terrible to behold;
and off they dashed through the air, as if the world were coming to an
end. Then arose such an awful storm, that whole villages and forests
were overturned, and as they passed over the ocean, the ships sank by
hundreds. On they went still over the water, so far as no one would
believe, but the North Wind became weaker and weaker, and so weak did
he become, that he could scarcely blow any more, and he sank lower and
lower, and at last got so low, that the waves flowed over his heels.

"Are you frightened?" inquired he of the maiden.

"No, not in the least," said she.

Now they were only a very little way from land, and the North Wind had
scarcely any strength remaining, to enable him to reach the shore
under the windows of the castle that lay eastward of the Sun, and
westward of the Moon. When he did get there, however, he was so weary
and faint, that he was obliged to rest many days before he could
return home.

In the morning the maiden seated herself under the windows of the
castle, and played with her golden apple, and the first person who saw
her, was the long-nosed princess whom the prince was to marry.

"What do you ask for your golden apple?" inquired the princess, as she
opened her window.

"It is not to be had for gold nor for gain;" said the maiden.

"If you will not part with it for gold nor for gain, what will you
take for it?" demanded the princess: "I will give whatever you ask."

"Well, then, if you will let me pass a night by the prince's side, you
shall have it," said the maiden.

"Oh! that you are quite welcome to do," said the princess, and took
the golden apple.

But when at night the maiden came into the prince's chamber, he was
fast asleep; she called to him and shook him, and cried and moaned,
but she could not awaken him, and as soon as the morning dawned, the
princess with the long nose came and drove her out of the room.

That day the maiden again placed herself under the castle windows, and
unwound the yarn from the golden reel, and the long-nosed princess
spoke to her as on the day before. She asked her what she would take
for the reel, but the maiden said it was not to be had for gold nor
gain, but that if she might pass another night beside the prince, the
princess should have it. She agreed, and took the golden reel. But
when the maiden entered the chamber the prince was fast asleep; and,
let her call and shake him, and weep and wail as she might, she could
not rouse him; and when the morning dawned, the princess with the long
nose again came and drove her away.

This day the maiden seated herself as before with her golden distaff
and span. When the princess saw the distaff, she wanted that also, and
opened the window, and asked what she would sell it for. The maiden
replied as before, neither for gold nor gain; but if the princess
would let her pass another night with the prince, she should have it.
Yes, she was very welcome, said the princess, and took the distaff.
Now it happened that some persons who slept close to the prince's
apartment, had heard the lamentations and melancholy cries of the
maiden during the two nights, and that morning they told the prince of
it. So in the evening when the princess brought the drink which the
prince was accustomed to take before he went to bed, he pretended to
drink it, but in reality he poured it on the ground behind him, for he
suspected strongly that the princess had mixed a sleeping potion with
it. Now when the maiden went into his room that night, he was wide
awake, and was overjoyed at seeing her, and he made her tell him all
that had happened to her, and how she had contrived to get to the
castle. When she had related all he said:--

"You are come just at the right moment; for to-morrow is to be my
wedding with the princess; but I want nothing of her and her long
nose, for you are the only one I will wed. I shall therefore say,
that I want to know what my bride is fit for, and I shall require her
to wash the three spots of oil out of my shirt. This she will
willingly undertake to do, but I know that she will not succeed; for
the spots were made by your hand, and can only be washed out again by
Christian hands, and not by the hands of such a pack of sorcerers as
she belongs to. I shall, however, say, that I will have no other bride
than she who can succeed, and when they have all tried and failed, I
shall call you, and desire you to try." So the night passed happily
away, and on the bridal day the prince said:--

"I should like vastly to see what my bride is fit for."

"That is no more than fair," said the step-mother.

"I have such a beautiful shirt," said the prince, "that I should like
to wear it on my bridal day, but there are spots of grease on it, and
I would willingly have them washed out; I have in consequence resolved
to wed none but her who is able to wash them out."

Truly, that was no such mighty matter, thought the women, and
immediately set to work; and the princess with the long nose began to
wash away as fast as she could. But the longer she washed, the larger
and darker grew the spots.

"Oh! you do not know much about the matter," said the old sorceress,
her mother: "give it to me."

But when she got hold of the shirt, it grew darker still, and the more
she washed and rubbed, the larger grew the spots. Now the other
witches of the establishment all tried their hands on the shirt, and
the longer they washed the worse it grew, and at last the whole shirt
looked as if it had been put up the chimney.

"Ah! you are all good for nothing," cried the prince; "there sits a
poor beggar wrench under the windows; I'll lay any wager she knows
more about washing than all of you put together. Come hither, wench!"
cried he; and when she came, he asked her:--

"Can you wash that shirt clean?"

"I don't know," said the maiden; "but I think I can."

So the maiden took the shirt, and under her hands it soon became as
white as the falling snow.

"Ah, I will have thee for my bride!" cried the prince, and when the
old sorceress heard that, she fell into such a tremendous rage, that
it killed her; and I think that the princess with the long nose, and
the whole pack of witches, must have expired also, for I have never
heard of them since. Then the prince and his bride set free all the
Christians who were confined in the castle; and they took as much gold
and silver as they could carry away, and went far away from the castle
that lies eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon. But how they
contrived to get away, and whither they went, I do not know; if,
however, they are what I take them for, they are at no very great
distance from here.




THE LITTLE MAN IN GREY.

[Upper Lusatia.]


A miner, a blacksmith, and a nun were travelling together through the
wide world. One day they were bewildered in a dark forest, and were so
wearied with wandering that they thought themselves right fortunate
when they saw, at a distance, a building wherein they hoped to find
shelter. They went up to it, and found that it was an ancient castle,
which, although half in ruins, still was in condition to afford a
habitation for such distressed pilgrims as they. They resolved
therefore to enter, and held a council how they might best establish
themselves in it, and they very soon agreed that it would be best that
one of them should always remain at home whilst the other two went out
in search of provisions. They then cast lots who should first stay
behind, and the lot fell on the nun.

So when the miner and the blacksmith were gone out into the forest,
she prepared the food, and when noon arrived, and her companions did
not return, she ate her share of the provisions. As soon as she had
finished her meal a little man, clad in grey, came to the door, and
shivering, said: "Oh, I am so cold!"

Then the nun said to him: "Come to the fire and warm thyself."

The little man did as the nun desired him, but presently after he
exclaimed: "Oh, how hungry I am!"

Then the nun said to him: "There is food by the fire; eat some of it."

The little man fell upon the food, and in a very short time devoured
it all. When the nun saw what he had done she was very angry, and
scolded him for not having left any food for her companions. Upon this
the little man flew into a great passion, seized the nun, beat her,
and threw her from one wall to the other. He then quitted the castle
and went his way, leaving the nun on the floor. Towards evening the
two companions returned home very hungry, and when they found no food
they reproached the nun bitterly, and would not believe her when she
told them what had happened.

The following day the miner proposed to keep watch in the castle, and
said he would take good care that no one should have to go to bed
fasting. So the two others went into the forest, and the miner looked
after the cooking, ate his share, and put the rest by on the oven. The
little grey clad man came as before, but how terrified was the miner
when he perceived that this time the little man had two heads. He
shivered as on the preceding day, saying: "Oh, how cold I am!"

Much frightened, the miner pointed to the hearth. Then the little man
said: "Oh, how hungry I am!"

"There is food on the oven," said the miner; "eat some."

Then the little man fell to with both his heads, and soon ate it all
up, and licked the plates clean. When the miner reproached him for
eating all up, he got for his pains just the same treatment as the
nun. The little man beat him black and blue, and flung him against the
walls till they cracked; the poor miner lost both sight and hearing,
and at last the little man left him lying there, and went his way.

[Illustration]

When the blacksmith and the nun returned hungry in the evening, and
found no supper, the blacksmith fell into a great rage with the miner,
and declared that when his turn should come next day to watch, the
castle, no one should want a supper. The next day, at meal time, the
little man appeared again but this time he had three heads. He
complained of cold, and was bidden by the blacksmith to sit by the
hearth. When he said he was hungry, the blacksmith gave him a portion
of the food. The little man soon dispatched that, and looked greedily
round with his six eyes, asking for more food, and when the blacksmith
hesitated to give it him, he tried to treat him as he had done the
nun and the miner; the blacksmith, however, was no coward, and seizing
a great smith's hammer, he rushed on the little man, and struck off
two of his heads, so that he made off as fast as he could with his
remaining head. But the blacksmith chased him through the forest along
many a pathway, till at last he suddenly disappeared through an iron
door. The blacksmith was thus obliged to give up the pursuit, but
promised himself not to rest until, with the aid of his two
companions, he should have brought the matter to a satisfactory
conclusion.

Meantime the nun and the miner had returned home. The smith set their
supper before them as he had undertaken to do, and then related his
adventure, showing them the two heads he had cut off, with their
staring glazed eyes. They then all three resolved to free themselves
altogether, if possible, from the little grey man, and the very next
day they set to work. They searched a long time before they could find
the iron door through which he had disappeared the preceding day, and
great toil did it cost them before they were able to break it open.
They then found themselves in a great vaulted chamber wherein sat a
beautiful maiden at a table, working. She started up, and threw
herself at their feet, thanking them as her deliverers, and told them
that she was the daughter of a king, and had been confined there by a
powerful sorcerer. Yesterday afternoon she had suddenly felt that the
spell was loosened, and from that moment she had hourly expected her
freedom, but that besides herself there was the daughter of another
king confined in the same place. They then went in search of the other
king's daughter and set her at liberty also. She thanked them joyfully
in like manner, and said that she also had felt since yesterday
afternoon that the spell was unbound. The two royal maidens now
informed their liberators that in concealed caves of the castle great
treasures were hoarded, which were guarded by a terrible dog. They
went in search of them and at length came upon the dog, whom the
blacksmith slew with his hammer, although he endeavoured to defend
himself.

The treasure consisted of whole tons of gold and silver, and a
handsome young man sat beside them as if to guard them. He came to
meet them and thanked them for setting him free. He was the son of a
king, but had been transformed by a sorcerer into the three-headed
little man and banished to that castle. By the loss of two of his
heads the spell was taken off the two royal maidens, and when the
blacksmith slew the terrible dog he himself was delivered from it. For
that service the whole of the treasure should be theirs.

The treasure was then divided, and it was a long time before they
could complete the distribution. The two princesses, however, out of
gratitude to their deliverers, married the miner and the blacksmith,
and the handsome prince married the nun; and so they passed the rest
of their lives in peace and joy.




RED, WHITE, AND BLACK.

[Normandy.]


The eldest son of a mighty monarch was once walking alone in a field,
which, as it was the depth of winter, happened to be covered with
snow. He perceived a raven flying by, and shot him. The bird fell dead
on the ground and the snow was sprinkled with his blood. The glossy
black of his plumage, the dazzling white of the snow, and the red
blood, formed a combination of colours which delighted the eyes of the
prince. The impression did not pass away from his memory; the colours
seemed perpetually to float before his eyes, and at length he
conceived in his heart an intense desire to possess a wife who should
be as rosy as that blood, as white as that snow, and have hair as
black as the plumage of that raven.

One day as he sat profoundly musing on the object of his desires, a
voice said to him:--"My prince, go travel into Marvel-land, and there
in the centre of an immense forest you will find an apple-tree,
bearing larger and fairer fruit than you have ever yet beheld; pluck
three of the apples, but forbear to open them until you shall be again
at home; they will present you with a bride exactly such as you
covet."

Marvel-land was very remote from the prince's home, and very difficult
of access, but nothing could deter him from undertaking the journey.
He started forthwith, travelled over land and sea, and searched the
forest with the utmost diligence, till at length he found the tree. He
broke off three fine apples, and as, in the first transports of his
joy, he could not resist the curiosity which urged him, he opened one
of them on the spot. A lovely maiden came out of it so enchantingly
fair, and so exactly corresponding to the image he had formed, that he
was lost in admiration. But the maiden, so far from being well
disposed towards him, gazed on him with looks of scorn, and bitterly
reproaching him for having carried her off, vanished from his sight.

This great disappointment might naturally have reduced him to despair;
but as he was of a disposition to be easily consoled, he soon
comforted himself with the trust that the two remaining apples would
give him compensation for his loss. Full of this sweet hope, he
resolved not to open them until he should reach his own country. But
even the saddest experience does not always suffice to enable us to
resist temptation. The prince's impatience was stronger than his
reason, and a second time he yielded to his desire of opening one of
the remaining apples.

He was at that time on the sea, and as there is very little amusement
to be had during a voyage on that element, perhaps very few persons
would have acted otherwise than he did. He persuaded himself that if
he caused the whole of the deck to be covered with an awning, the fair
one could not escape him. He therefore opened the second apple, and as
before, a maiden of unequalled beauty stood before him; she manifested
the same displeasure as the former one, and notwithstanding the
precautions he had taken, disappeared in like manner. But even these
two experiences barely sufficed to render the prince prudent.

At length however he reached his native country, and on opening the
remaining apple, a third maiden as lovely as the others, but far more
gentle, appeared. He immediately married her, and they were the
happiest couple in the world.

After a time he was obliged to go out to war against a neighbouring
potentate, and thus to quit his beloved. The queen-mother, in whose
power the young bride now found herself, had never approved the
marriage. She caused her daughter-in-law to be murdered in a barbarous
manner, flung the corpse into the moat that surrounded the castle, and
to complete her guilty deed, she substituted for the unhappy queen a
person who was entirely devoted to herself.

When the prince returned he was greatly astonished to find a wife so
different from the one he had left. But the queen his mother assured
him confidently that the person she presented to him was his wife. She
did not attempt to deny the great alteration in her appearance, but
she ascribed the transformation to the effect of magic.

In truth, the mode by which the prince had obtained his wife did give
some appearance of probability to the queen's assertion, and at all
events, whether from softness of disposition, or absence of distrust,
the prince believed what he was told. But all was unavailing to make
him forget his first passion. Night and day he mused upon the past,
and would pass whole hours leaning against the window of his palace.

One day as he was thus musing in deep melancholy, he perceived in the
castle moat a fish whose shining scales were red, white, and black. He
was so struck by the sight that he never withdrew his eyes from the
fish. The old queen, who considered this extraordinary attention to
the fish as a consequence of his early passion, resolved to destroy
every object that might tend to recall it to his memory. She therefore
commanded the false princess to feign the most vehement longing to eat
the very fish which had so attracted her husband's attention. He could
not deny a request which in the opinion of all others was so innocent.
The fish was caught, served at the table of the supposed princess, and
the prince relapsed into his usual melancholy.

Not very long after he was comforted by the appearance of a tree which
was red, white, and black. The tree was of an unknown genus, no one
had planted it, nor sown any seed; it had suddenly grown up on the
spot where the scales of the fish had been thrown away.

This fair tree gave the prince great pleasure and the queen equal
displeasure; she at once resolved on its destruction in spite of the
sad prince's remonstrances. It was uprooted and burnt; but from its
ashes suddenly arose a magnificent palace constructed of red rubies,
white pearls, and black ebony. The three colours which the prince so
loved, produced now an enchanting effect. Long did he endeavour in
vain to enter that fair palace; the gates remained fast closed, and at
last he contented himself with incessantly contemplating it, and
passed day after day in this occupation which recalled to him the
object of his wishes.

His constancy was at last rewarded; the gates flew open; he entered
the palace, and after traversing numerous apartments, he found in a
small chamber his first wife whom he had so tenderly loved, and whose
memory was so dear to him. She reproached him for having by his
yielding disposition caused her so much suffering, but at the same
time testified the vivid joy which she felt as she perceived that he
was so deserving of the forgiveness she bestowed on him.

The happiness of the re-united pair was not again disturbed, and they
lived together perfectly satisfied with their destiny.




THE TWELVE LOST PRINCESSES AND THE WIZARD KING.

[African.]


Once upon a time there lived a king who had twelve daughters, whom he
loved so tenderly that he could not bear that they should be out of
his presence, except when he was sleeping in the afternoon, and then
they always took a walk. On one occasion, it happened that whilst the
king was enjoying his afternoon's nap, the princesses went out as
usual, but they did not return home. This threw all the inhabitants of
the country into the greatest trouble and affliction, but the king was
still more grieved than any of his subjects. He sent messengers to
every corner of his kingdom, and into all the foreign lands he had
ever heard mentioned, causing search to be made for his daughters; but
no tidings could he get of them.

So, after a time, it became quite clear to everybody that they had
been carried off by some wizard. The report of this soon spread from
city to city, and from country to country, till at last it reached the
ears of another king, who lived far, far away, and this king happened
to have twelve sons. When the twelve princes heard the marvellous tale
about the twelve princesses, they begged their father to permit them
to travel in search of the missing royal maidens. The old king,
however, for a long time would not hear of any such thing, for he
feared that he might never see his sons again; but they threw
themselves at his feet, and besought him so long and earnestly that at
last he yielded, and gave them leave to set out on their travels. He
caused a vessel to be equipped for them, and gave the charge of it to
one of his courtiers, called Commander Rod. Long, long did they sail,
and whenever they touched on the coast of any country, they made every
inquiry about the princesses, but could not discover the least trace
of them.

They had nearly completed the seventh year since they first set sail,
when a violent storm arose. It blew such a gale that they thought they
never should reach the shore; but on the third day the tempest
subsided, and suddenly it became quite calm. All on board were now so
fatigued by the hard work they had done during the tempest that they
all went to sleep at once, excepting only the youngest prince, who
became very restless, and could not sleep at all. Now whilst he was
pacing the deck, the vessel neared an island, and on the shore was a
little dog running backwards and forwards, and howling and barking
towards the ship as if it wanted to be taken on board. The king's son
whistled to it, and tried to entice it to him, but it seemed afraid to
leave the shore, and only barked and howled louder still. The prince
thought it would be a sin to leave the poor dog to perish, for he
supposed it had escaped there from some ship that had foundered during
the storm. He therefore set to work to lower the boat, and after
having rowed to the shore, he went towards the little dog, but
whenever he was about to lay hold of it, it sprang from him, and so
lured him onward, till at last he found himself unexpectedly in the
court of a great and magnificent castle, when the little dog suddenly
changed into a beautiful princess.

The prince then noticed, sitting on the beach, a man so gigantic and
frightful that he was quite alarmed. "You have no cause for
uneasiness," said the man; but when the prince heard his voice he was
more frightened still.

"I know very well what you want; you are one of the twelve princes who
are in search of the twelve lost princesses. I know also where they
are. They are beside my master, each sitting on her own chair, and
combing the hair of one of his heads, for he has twelve. You have now
been sailing about for seven years, and you have to sail for seven
years more before you will find them. As to what concerns yourself,
individually, you should be welcome to remain here and marry my
daughter, but you must first kill my master, for he is very harsh to
us, and we have long been quite tired of him: and when he is dead I
shall be king in his place. Try now if you can wield this sword," said
the wizard, for such he was.

The prince tried to grasp a rusty sword which hung against the wall,
but could not stir it from the spot.

"Well, then you must take a draught out of this flask," said the
wizard.

The prince did so, and was then able to unhang the sword from the
wall; after a second draught he could raise it, and the third enabled
him to wield it with as much ease as his own.

"When you return on board the vessel," said the wizard prince, "you
must conceal the sword in your hammock, so that Commander Rod may not
see it. He cannot wield it, I know, but he will hate you on that
account, and try to kill you. When seven more years all but three days
shall have passed away," he continued, "the same that has befallen you
now will again occur: a violent gale will arise, with storm and hail,
and when it is over, all will be again fatigued, and lie down in their
hammocks. You must then take the sword, and row to land. You will
arrive at a castle guarded by wolves, bears, and lions, but you need
not fear them; they will crawl at your feet. As soon as you enter the
castle, you will see the giant sitting in a splendidly adorned
chamber, and a princess will be seated on her own chair, beside one of
his twelve heads. As soon as you see him you must with all speed cut
off one head after the other, before he awakes, for should he do that,
he will eat you alive."

The prince returned to the ship with the sword, and did not forget
what the wizard had told him. The others were still lying sound
asleep, so he concealed the sword in his hammock without Commander Rod
or any of the others perceiving it. A breeze now sprang up, and the
prince awakened the crew, and told them that with such a fair wind
they must no longer lie sleeping there. Time wore on, and the prince
was for ever thinking of the adventure that awaited him, and much
doubted that it would have a fortunate issue.

At last, when seven years all but three days were over, everything
happened just as the wizard had foretold. A fierce tempest arose, and
lasted three days, and when it was over the whole crew were fatigued,
and lay down to sleep in their hammocks. The youngest prince, however,
then rowed to the shore, and there he found the castle, guarded by
wolves, bears, and lions, who all crawled at his feet, so that he
entered without opposition. In one of the apartments sat the king,
asleep, and the twelve princesses sat each on her chair, employed as
the wizard had said. The prince made signs to them that they should
retire; they however pointed to the wizard, and signed to him in
return that he had better quickly withdraw. But he tried to make them
understand, by looks and gestures, that he was come to deliver them,
and when, at length, they understood his design, they stole softly
away one after the other. Then the prince rushed on the wizard king,
and cut off his heads, so that the blood flowed like a great river,
and when he had convinced himself that the wizard was dead, he rowed
back to the vessel, and again concealed the sword. He thought he had
now done enough unaided, and as he could not carry the giant's corpse
out of the castle without assistance, he resolved that the others
should help him. He therefore awakened them, and told them it was a
shame that they should lie sleeping there, whilst he had found the
princesses, and delivered them out of the wizard's power. They all
laughed at him, and said he must have been asleep too, and had only
dreamt that he had become such a hero; for it was far more likely that
one of themselves should deliver the princesses than such a youth as
he.

Then the prince told them all that had happened, so they consented to
row to the land, and when they beheld the river of blood, and the
wizard's castle, and his twelve heads lying there, and saw also the
twelve princesses, they were convinced that he had spoken the truth,
and so assisted him in throwing the heads and the corpse of the wizard
into the sea. They were now all right merry and pleased, but none were
better pleased than the princesses to be delivered from the task of
sitting all day beside the giant, combing his twelve heads.

The princes and princesses, after they had collected as much of the
gold and silver, and as many of the costly articles in the castle as
they could carry, returned to the vessel, and again set sail. They had
not gone far, however, when the princesses recollected that, in their
joy, they had omitted to bring away with them their golden crowns,
which were in a great chest, and these they very much desired to have
with them. As no one else seemed inclined to go back for them, the
youngest of the king's sons said: "Since I have already dared to do so
much, I may as well also fetch the golden crowns, if you will take in
the sails and wait my return."

Yes, they were willing to do that; they would lower the sails and wait
till he returned. But the prince was no sooner out of sight of the
vessel than Commander Rod, who wished to play the principal part, and
to marry the youngest princess, said: "It was no use for us to stay
here waiting for the prince, who, we may be sure, will not come back;
besides," added he, "you know full well that the king has given to me
full power to sail when and where I think proper;" then he insisted
further that they should all say that it was he who had set the
princesses free: and if any one of them should dare to say otherwise
it should cost him his life. The princes were afraid to contradict
him, so they sailed away. Meanwhile the younger prince had rowed to
the shore, and soon found in the castle the chest containing the
golden crowns, and after a great deal of trouble and fatigue, for it
was very heavy, he succeeded in heaving it into the boat. But when he
got out into the open sea, the ship was no longer in sight. He looked
north, south, east, and west, but no trace could he discover of it,
and he quickly guessed what had occurred. He knew that to row after it
would be quite useless, so he had only to turn back and row again to
the shore. It is true that he was rather alarmed at the idea of
passing the night all alone in the castle, but there was no avoiding
it; so he screwed up his courage as well as he could, locked all the
gates and doors, and lay down to sleep in a bed which he found ready
prepared in one of the apartments. But he felt very uneasy, and became
much more terrified, on presently hearing in the roof over his head,
and along the walls, a creaking and cracking, as if the castle were
about to split asunder; and then came a great rustling close to his
bed, like a whole haystack falling down. However, he was in some
degree comforted when he immediately after the noise heard a voice
bidding him not to be alarmed.

    "Fear not, fear not, thy friend I am;
    I am the wondrous bird called Dam.
    When thou'rt in trouble call on me:
    I shall be near to succour thee,"

said the voice, and then added: "As soon as you wake to-morrow
morning, you must go directly to the Stabur[4], and fetch me four
bushels of rye for my breakfast; I must have a good meal, otherwise I
can do nothing for you."

[Footnote 4: A building used as a kind of store-room or larder, and
supported on short pillars or posts, so as not to allow it to touch
the ground.]

When the prince awoke in the morning, he saw by his bed-side a
terribly large bird, who had a feather at the back of his head as long
as a half-grown fir tree. The prince immediately went to the Stabur
and brought thence four bushels of rye, as the wondrous bird Dam had
commanded, who, as soon as he had taken his breakfast, desired the
prince to hang the chest containing the golden crowns on one side of
his neck, and as much gold and silver as would balance it on the
other, and then to get upon his back and hold fast by the long
feather. The prince obeyed and off they went, whizzing through the air
at such a rate, that in a very short time they found themselves
exactly above the ship. The prince then wished to go on board, that he
might get the sword which the wizard had given him.

[Illustration: THE TWELVE LOST PRINCESSES AND THE WIZARD KING. P.
259.]

But the wondrous bird Dam told him that he must not do so: "Commander
Rod," added he, "will not discover it; but if you go on board he will
try to kill you, for he very much wishes to marry the youngest
princess; but make yourself easy about her, for every night she places
a drawn sword on the bed by her side."

At last they reached the castle of the wizard prince, who gave the
young prince a hearty welcome. He seemed as if he could not make
enough of him, for having killed his sovereign, in whose stead he was
now king. He would willingly have given his daughter and half his
kingdom to the young prince, but that the latter was so much in love
with the youngest of the twelve princesses, that he could think of no
one but her, and he was all impatience to be off again.

The wizard, however, besought him to have a little patience, and told
him that the princesses were doomed to sail about still for twice
seven years before they could return home. As to the youngest
princess, the wizard said exactly the same as the wondrous bird Dam:
"You may be quite at ease concerning her," said he, "for she always
carries a drawn sword to bed with her. And if you do not believe me,
you may go on board when they next sail past this place, to convince
yourself; and, at the same time, bring me the sword I lent you, for I
must positively have it back."

Now after seven years' more wandering, the princes and princesses were
again sailing past the island; a terrible storm came on as before, and
after it was over the king's son went on board and found them all fast
asleep as on the former occasions; but by each of the princes a
princess also lay asleep. Only the youngest princess slept alone, with
a naked sword beside her; and on the floor, in front of the bed, lay
Commander Rod, also sound asleep. The king's son took the sword from
his hammock, and rowed to the island, without any one having perceived
that he had been on board.

The prince, however, grew more and more impatient, always wishing to
set out again.

At length, when the second seven years were completed all but three
weeks, the wizard said to him: "Now you may prepare for your voyage,
since you are determined not to remain with us. I will lend you an
iron boat that will go of itself on the water, by your merely saying
to it: 'Boat, go forwards.' In the boat you will find a boat-hook,
which you must lift up a little when you see the ship right before
you. Such a fresh breeze will then spring up, that the ship's crew
will forget to look after you. As soon as you get near the ship, raise
the boat-hook a little higher, and then a storm will arise that will
give them other work to do than spying after you. When you shall have
passed the ship, raise the boat-hook for the third time, but you must
be careful each time to lay it down again, else there will be such a
tempest, that you, as well as the others, will perish. On reaching the
shore, you need take no further trouble about the boat than to turn it
upside down, shove it into the sea, and say: 'Boat, go home again.'"

When the prince was departing, he received from the wizard so much
gold and silver, together with other treasures, and clothes and linen
which the princess had made for him during his long stay in the
island, that he was a great deal richer than any of his brothers.

He had no sooner seated himself in the boat and said, "Boat, go
forwards," than on it went, and when he came in sight of the ship, he
raised the boat-hook, and a breeze sprang up, so that the crew forgot
to look after him; and on nearing the vessel he did the same, when
such a storm and gale arose, that the ship was covered with the white
spray, and the waves broke over the deck, so that the crew had no
leisure to remark him. At last when he had passed the ship, he raised
the boat-hook the third time, and the crew found enough to do to make
them quite forget him. He reached the land long before the ship, and,
after taking his property out of the boat, he turned it over, shoved
it into the sea, saying, "Boat, go home," and away it went.

He now disguised himself as a sailor, and went to the wretched hovel
of an old woman, to whom he said he was a poor shipwrecked sailor, the
only one of the crew who had escaped drowning; and he begged shelter
in her hut for himself and the things he had saved from the wreck.

"Ah, heaven help me," replied the woman, "I can give no one shelter. I
have not even a bed for myself, let alone any one else."

Oh! that did not signify, said the sailor, so that he had but a roof
over his head, it was all one to him what he lay upon; therefore she
would not surely refuse him the shelter of her roof, since he was
content to take things as he found them.

In the evening, he brought his things to the cottage, and the old
woman, who did not at all dislike to have something new to talk about,
began inquiring who he was, where he had been, and whither he was
going; what were the things he had brought with him; on what business
he was travelling, and whether he had heard anything of the twelve
princesses who had disappeared so many years ago, with so many other
questions, that it would be tiresome to repeat them.

But the sailor replied that he felt so ill, and had such a terrible
headache from the fatigues he had undergone during the storm, that he
could not accurately recollect anything that had passed; but that
after he should have had a few days repose, and recovered from his
labours, she should hear all.

The next day, however, the old woman renewed her questions, but the
sailor pretended still to have such a terrible headache, that he could
not rightly remember anything; though he did let a word or two drop,
as by accident, which showed that he did know something about the
princesses.

Off ran the old woman to tell this news to all the gossips in the
neighbourhood, who hurried one after the other to the hut, to hear all
about the princesses; and to ask whether the sailor had seen them, if
they were soon coming, and a hundred other questions.

Still the sailor had such a terrible headache, that he could not
answer their questions. Thus much, however, he did say: that if the
princesses were not wrecked during that fierce storm, they would
certainly arrive in fourteen days, or even sooner. He had certainly
seen them alive, but they might have since perished.

One of the gossips went forthwith to the royal residence, and related
all that she had heard; and when the king heard it, he desired that
the sailor should be brought to him.

The sailor replied, "I have no clothes in which I can appear before
the king."

But he was told that he must go, for the king must and would see him,
whatever appearance he might make, for he was the first person who had
ever brought any news of the princesses. So he entered the king's
presence, when he was asked if he had really seen the princesses.

"Yes," said the sailor, "but I know not if they still live, for when
I saw them, it was during such a fierce storm, that we were wrecked.
But if they did not then go to the bottom, they may be here in about
fourteen days, or perhaps sooner."

When the king heard this, he was almost frantic with joy, and at the
appointed time for the arrival of the princesses, he went down to the
shore in state to meet them; and great was the rejoicing through the
land, when at last the ship sailed into port, with the princes, and
princesses, and Commander Rod. The eleven elder princesses were in
high spirits and good humour; but the youngest, whom Commander Rod was
anxious to marry, was very sad and wept incessantly, for which the
king chid her, and asked her why she was not happy and cheerful, like
her sisters. She had no cause, thought he, to be sad, now she was
delivered from the wizard, and had such a fine man as Commander Rod
for her lover. The Princess however durst not tell the truth, for
Commander Rod had told the king that it was himself who had liberated
the princesses, and had threatened to kill any one who should say
otherwise.

Now, one day while the princesses were making their wedding clothes, a
man in a coarse sailor's jacket, with a pedlar's pack on his back,
came and asked them if they would not like to buy some fine things for
their wedding, for he had some costly articles of gold and silver.

"Yes," said they, "very possibly they might," and they looked very
attentively at the ornaments, and still more so at him, for they could
not help fancying that they had seen both him and the goods before.

[Illustration]

At last the youngest princess said, that he who had such costly
articles, might perhaps have others still more suitable to them.

"Very possibly," returned the pedlar.

But her sisters bade her be quiet, and remember Commander Rod's
threat.

Shortly after, when the princesses were sitting at the window, the
king's son came again in his coarse sailor jacket, carrying the chest
with the golden crowns.

On entering the hall, he opened the chest, and now when the princesses
recognised each her own golden crown, the youngest princess said:--"To
me it seems only fair and just, that he who suffers for us, should
receive the reward to which he is entitled; our deliverer is not
Commander Rod, but he who has now brought us our golden crowns, is
also he who destroyed the wizard."

Then the king's son threw off his jacket, and stood there far more
splendidly attired than any of the rest.

The king now caused Commander Rod to be put to death for his perfidy,
and gave his daughter in marriage to the young prince.

The rejoicings in the royal residence were very great, and each prince
took his princess away to a different realm, so that the tale was told
and talked about in no less than twelve distinct kingdoms.




THE STUDY OF MAGIC UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

[Italian.]


In the island of Sicily, and in the fair and famous city of Messina,
dwelt a man, Lactantius by name, who was a great proficient in two
different arts. By day, and ostensibly to his fellow-citizens, he
carried on the trade of a tailor; but by night, and secretly, he
studied the art of necromancy. One evening, when he had locked himself
in his room, and was occupied with all kinds of magic works, as ill
luck would have it, a young man, one of his apprentices, came to the
door. Dionysius, such was his name, had returned to fetch from the
chamber of Lactantius something which he had forgotten. When he
perceived that the door was closed, but at the same time heard a noise
within, he crept gently up, peeped through the keyhole, and witnessed
his master's magic doings. Such delight did this give the young man,
that from that moment he thought of nothing but how he might secretly
learn his master's art. Needle, thimble, and shears thenceforth were
little troubled by him; he cared alone to learn that which no one
cared to teach him, and so from having been an industrious, attentive,
useful workman, he became careless, idle, and inattentive. Lactantius
perceiving this change in his apprentice, discharged him from his
service, and sent him back to his father, who was much grieved in
consequence.

The father having repeatedly lectured his son, with tears besought him
to attend to his duty, and taking him back to the tailor, earnestly
begged him to receive his son once again, desiring him, should he
again neglect his business, to punish him severely.

Lactantius, out of kindness to the poor man, was soon persuaded; he
again received his pupil, and instructed him carefully every day in
cutting out and sewing. As, however, Dionysius would absolutely learn
nothing, his master gave him many a sound caning, so that the poor
apprentice, who received more blows than bread, was always black and
blue, all of which he bore with the greatest patience, so insensible
had he become to everything through the engrossing desire to learn
that secret art which he night after night watched his master carry
on, as he stood peeping through the keyhole.

Lactantius, who took him for the stupid lout he appeared to be, at
last gave himself no further trouble to conceal his witchcraft from
him, thinking that as he could not even learn the business of
tailoring, which is so easy, he would far less comprehend witchcraft,
which is really a puzzling art. He therefore no longer made a secret
of his practices to Dionysius, who now thought himself the most
fortunate of men, and who although others considered him such a
blockhead, in a very short time became such a proficient in the magic
art, that he understood more of it than his master.

One day, as the father was passing by Lactantius' house, not seeing
his son in the shop, he entered, and found that, instead of working
with the other apprentices, he was cleaning the house, and in short,
performing all the offices of a housemaid.

This so disturbed the good man, that he took his son home with him,
and thus lectured him: "Thou knowest, Dionysius, how much I have
expended on thee, in the hope that thou wouldst learn a useful
business, whereby one day to support thyself and me; but, alas! I have
sown my seed on the waters, for thou refusest to learn anything. Truly
this will be my death, for I am so poor I know not how to support
myself, nor have I any means of providing for thee. Therefore, I
beseech thee, my son, learn to support thyself in any respectable way
thou canst."

Having said this, the old man began to weep, when Dionysius, moved by
his distress, replied: "Dear father, I thank you a thousand times, and
from my heart, for all the trouble and anxiety you have had on my
account: but I beg you will not think, because I did not learn
tailoring, as you wished me, that I have therefore passed the time in
idleness. On the contrary, by night-watching and unwearied efforts, I
have learned an art which I hope hereafter to exercise so
efficaciously that you and I shall live all our days in peace and joy.
That you may not imagine that I say this merely to satisfy you for the
moment, I will at once give you a proof of what I affirm.

"To-morrow, by means of my secret art, I will transform myself into a
fine horse; saddle and bridle me, and lead me to the market, and sell
me. When you shall have made your bargain, go quietly home, your
pocket full of money, and you shall find me here again in the same
form which I now bear. Judge therefore whether or not I have learned
something useful, since in so short a time I can earn for you the
necessaries of life. Take especial heed, however, when you sell me,
not to part with my bridle; this, come what will, you must carefully
retain, else I shall not be able to return, and perhaps you may never
see me again."

The next morning Dionysius stripped himself in presence of his father,
and after anointing himself with a certain ointment, he murmured some
words, whereupon, to the inexpressible astonishment of the good old
man, in the place of his son, a fine powerful horse suddenly appeared,
which he immediately harnessed as his son had instructed him, and led
him to the market. As soon as the merchants and horse-dealers saw him,
they gathered round him, quite delighted with the beauty of the horse,
the action of whose limbs and whole body was so perfect, and who
showed such a fleetness and fire, that it was quite surprising. All
inquired if the horse were for sale, to which the old man replied in
the affirmative.

By accident, Lactantius was in the market, and as soon as he saw the
horse, and had narrowly examined him, he at once discovered that it
was a magic horse. He therefore withdrew unperceived from the crowd,
and hastened home, disguised himself as a merchant, and provided with
an ample sum of money, returned to the market, where he found the man
still with his horse. He approached the animal, and after attentively
observing him, recognised in him his apprentice, Dionysius. He then
asked the old man if he would sell him, and they soon concluded a
bargain. Lactantius paid him two hundred gold pieces; but as he took
him by the bridle to lead him away, the old man objected, saying that
he had sold the horse but not the bridle, which he must have back
again. Lactantius however contrived to talk him over, so that he
obtained the bridle as well as the horse, which he led home, and
fastening him to the stall, gave him for breakfast and supper so many
hundred blows, that the poor beast became nothing but skin and bones,
and excited the compassion of all who beheld him.

Lactantius had two daughters, who, when they saw their father's
barbarity, went daily into the stable to do what they could for the
poor horse. They caressed him, patted him, and treated him with all
possible kindness, and one day went so far as to lead him by the
halter to drink at the stream. The moment, however, the horse found
himself by the water, he threw himself into it, and transforming
himself into a little fish, he disappeared in the waves.

At this extraordinary occurrence the maidens stood speechless with
astonishment, and returning home, gave way to the deepest sorrow. Some
time after Lactantius returned, and went into the stable to administer
a little further chastisement to his horse, when to his great
astonishment he found him gone. Very indignant thereat, he went to his
daughters, and beheld them in tears. Without inquiring the cause, for
he knew full well the cause of their trouble, he said to them: "My
children, fear nothing, only tell me what has become of the horse, in
order that I may at once take measures concerning him."

The poor maidens composed themselves on hearing these words, and
related to him what had happened. When the father had heard the story,
he hastened to the river, transformed himself into a large fish,
dashed into the water, and as fast as his fins could carry him pursued
the little fish, intending to swallow him.

When the latter beheld the voracious fish, with its terrible teeth, he
was dreadfully alarmed at the thought of being swallowed by him, and
approaching the bank of the river, he left the water, and in the form
of a beautiful ruby, set in gold, he threw himself unseen into the
little basket which the king's daughter, who happened just then to be
amusing herself with picking up little pebbles on the sand, carried on
her arm.

As soon as the princess, who was called Violante, returned home, she
took her treasures out of the little basket, and perceived the ring
shining amongst the pebbles. Quite delighted, she placed it on her
finger, and could not desist from contemplating it.

At night, when the princess had retired to her sleeping apartment, the
ring suddenly changed into a handsome young man. He laid his hand on
the princess's mouth, who was about to scream aloud, then threw
himself at her feet and besought her forgiveness. He assured her he
was not there with any disrespectful purpose, but only to implore her
assistance, and then told her his misfortune, and the persecutions he
had to endure.

Violante, somewhat re-assured by the bright light of the lamp which
burned in her chamber, as also by the words of the young man, whom she
found very handsome and attractive, felt compassion for him, and
said: "Young man, thou art very bold in entering a place where thy
presence was not desired. But in consideration of thy misfortune, I
will forgive thee. Thy narration has awakened all my compassion, and I
will show thee that I am not made of marble, nor have a heart of
adamant. I am even resolved, so far as my honour will permit, to give
thee my entire protection."

The young man humbly returned thanks, and, when day dawned, again
transformed himself into the ring, which the princess placed amongst
her most costly jewels.

It happened just about that time, that the king fell dangerously ill,
and all his physicians declared his disease was incurable.

This came to the ears of Lactantius, who thereupon disguised himself
as a physician, went to the royal palace, and being introduced to the
king, inquired carefully respecting his symptoms, felt his pulse,
examined his countenance, and said: "Your majesty's disease is no
doubt an obstinate one, and very dangerous; but take courage: in a
short time I will restore you to health, for I possess a remedy by
which I can in a few days cure the severest and most dangerous illness
that exists."

"Master physician," replied the king, "if you restore me to health, I
promise to reward you so richly that you shall be content for the rest
of your life."

"My sovereign," rejoined the physician, "I desire neither rank,
honours, nor riches, but only request your majesty will grant me one
favour."

The king readily promised this, on condition that he should require
nothing that was impossible.

"I ask nothing more of your majesty than a ruby set in gold, which is
now in the possession of the princess your daughter."

When the king heard this modest request, he sent for his daughter, and
in presence of the physician, desired her to fetch her whole stock of
jewels. The princess obeyed, leaving out, however, the precious ring.
But when the physician had thoroughly examined them, he said the ruby
he wished for was not amongst them.

Violante, who valued her ruby above all the rest, affirmed that she
had no other jewels than those now before them; whereupon the king
said to the physician: "Retire now, and return to-morrow; I will
undertake that my daughter shall give me the ring."

When the physician was gone, the king called Violante, and inquired in
the gentlest manner, where was the beautiful ruby which the physician
wished for; saying that if she would give it to him, she should have
in its place a still more beautiful and precious one. But she
positively denied having it in her possession.

She no sooner returned to her apartment, than she locked herself in,
and began to weep bitterly at the thought of losing her poor ruby,
which she bathed with her tears, and kissed with the utmost
tenderness.

When the ruby felt the hot tears that fell from the princess's eyes,
and heard her deep sighs, it assumed the human form, and said to her:
"Princess, on whom my life hangs, I beseech you, do not thus
immoderately grieve at my misfortune. Let us rather devise some means
of rescue; for that physician who so zealously covets the possession
of me, is no other than my greatest foe Lactantius, who desires to
kill me. Therefore I implore you, do not give me into his hand, but
feign to be indignant, and dash me against the wall: leave the rest to
my care."

The following morning the physician again visited the king, who
informed him that his daughter still persisted that she did not
possess the ring. Lactantius much displeased, on hearing this,
however, positively asserted that the ruby was in the princess's
collection.

Thereupon the king again sent for the princess, and in the physician's
presence said to her: "Violante, thou knowest that I owe the
restoration of my health to this man's skill and care. He requires no
other recompense of me than that ring which he declares to be in thy
possession, and which thou dost assert thou hast not. I should have
thought thy love for me would have led thee not to give thy ruby
alone, but thy very life. I beseech thee, by the obedience thou owest
to me, by the affection I have borne thee, to withhold it from me no
longer."

The princess, on hearing her father's will so decidedly expressed,
returned to her room, collected all her jewels, amongst which she laid
the ruby, and taking them one by one in her hand, in the presence of
her father, showed them each in succession to the physician, who, the
moment he saw the ruby, would have laid his hand on it, saying:
"Princess, this is the ring I wish for, and which the king has
promised me."

But the princess, repelling him, said: "Stay, master, you shall have
it!" and holding the ring in her hand, exclaimed: "Then it is this
precious jewel, so infinitely dear to me, that you covet: I must
renounce this, for the loss of which I shall be inconsolable for life.
But I do not yield it willingly, but only because the king, my
father, requires it of me."

With these words she flung the ruby against the wall. As it fell to
the ground it instantly changed into a beautiful pomegranate, which
burst as it fell, and its seeds were scattered all over the room.

The physician as quickly became a cock, in order to swallow all the
seeds, and thus to destroy the unlucky Dionysius; but he had
miscalculated: one of the seeds had so concealed itself that the cock
could not discover it. The seed watched its opportunity, transformed
itself into a fox, who throwing himself on master cock, seized him by
the throat, and strangled and devoured him in the presence of the
astonished monarch and his daughter Violante. Dionysius then resumed
his human form, and related all to the king, who thought he could not
do better than immediately give him his daughter in marriage. They
lived long together in peace and happiness, and the good old father of
Dionysius became, instead of an indigent man, a rich and powerful one;
whilst, on the other hand, the cruelty of Lactantius had cost him his
life.




FORTUNE'S FAVOURITE;

OR, THE VERY WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF PISTA, THE SWINEHERD.

[Hungarian.]


Near the centre of a thick forest once dwelt a forester with his
beloved wife. The chase was his occupation, and he lived contentedly
on the provision which his ever-active bow procured him from day to
day. In this manner he passed two years very happily; although the
blessing of children, which he earnestly desired, had been hitherto
denied him. But the saying, "Patience brings roses," consoled him, and
indeed the saying did at last prove true, and in so striking a manner,
that it seemed as if destiny had exerted its utmost power to fulfil
it, in his case, even to excess. In the third year, whilst the
forester was away hunting in the wood, his family was increased by the
addition of twelve fine, healthy sons, upon whom the attendant
midwife bestowed every necessary care, and then placed them in a
circle on the floor in the centre of the room, where the sturdy
infants stretched their limbs and raised their voices for the first
time in a tremendously loud Tutti.

Whilst these events were taking place, the day declined, and evening
gradually threw its shade over field and mountain. The light-hearted
hunter bethought him of his supper, and returned, laden with two or
three hares, to his cottage.

But how thunderstruck was he when he heard that Heaven had showered
down upon him such an abundant blessing. He entered, gazed, and at the
sight of the liberal gift, at once lost his reason, and rushed raving
out of doors back into the depths of the dark forest, never to return
again.

The poor forsaken wife now remained in her hut with her twelve little
sons, desiring nothing more ardently than to be able to leave her bed,
in order to provide food for her children.

The midwife afforded her all the assistance in her power, and when at
length she recovered, she prepared a bow and arrows, scoured the woods
and hills, and daily brought home as much game as was requisite for
the support of herself and her children. Thus she lived fifteen years;
during which period the little ones grew strong and healthy, and
learned from her to provide, by hunting, for their own necessities.

But before they reached their sixteenth year, it pleased Heaven to
call their mother to itself, and now the youths, deprived of parental
care, were abandoned to their fate. They continued to live as before,
on the products of the chase, which they fraternally divided amongst
them, and remained together in harmony and peace.

The distracted father meanwhile continued to wander incessantly
through the forest. His habiliments had long been torn to rags, and
his appearance terrified every one who beheld him. Although other
foresters occasionally met him, and brought tidings of him to his
sons, yet no one could ever lay hold of him, as he shunned the
approach of everybody, and at the aspect of a human being he hastened
like a frightened beast to hide himself in the thicket. But his
unhappy fate was a daily increasing source of sorrow to his sons, who
at length consulted seriously together, how they might get him into
their hands, so as to be able to take care of him, and, if possible,
restore him to reason.

They at length agreed to betake themselves, provided with a roasted
goose, a pitcher of brandy, and one large boot, to a certain spring in
the forest, near which the foresters frequently saw him. With these
things they went to the appointed spot, placed them close to the
spring, and then concealed themselves in the bushes to watch for his
arrival.

They had waited a considerable time when they heard the sound of
footsteps, and beheld a dark figure approaching the spring. With
ardent curiosity they peeped from their concealment, and at length
saw, with surprise and horror, a being more like a ghost than a man,
but who, however, perfectly corresponded to the description which the
foresters had given them of their unfortunate father.

When he approached the spring to slake his thirst he started on
perceiving the unaccustomed objects which were beside it, and prepared
to start off at the moment, should he perceive a human form. But as
the youths kept themselves entirely concealed, and made not the least
noise, his alarm subsided, and he ventured to drink from the spring.

After he had refreshed himself, the roasted goose, the little pitcher,
and the large boot seemed again to attract his attention, and he could
not resist the desire to make himself master of them. He laid himself
down quite leisurely by the boot, devoured the goose with the greatest
avidity, and emptied the pitcher with a satyr-like expression of
countenance.

The liquor seemed quickly to affect him; for almost as soon as he had
swallowed it he manifested his satisfaction by fantastic leaps, and
all kinds of ridiculous antics. He soon laid hold of the boot,
examined it attentively on all sides, and nodded his head knowingly,
as if in self-approval for having devised its purpose.

Thus satisfied with himself, he again seated himself on the ground,
and endeavoured to draw the boot over both feet at once; and although
it was large enough to admit the foot of a demi-giant, it cost the
lunatic extraordinary efforts to effect his object. Overpowered by
fatigue, and the strength of the liquor he had drunk, he gradually
sank down by the stream, and fell asleep.

His sons, when they perceived this, hastened with the greatest caution
from the bushes, raised the intoxicated sleeper from the ground, and
carried him home. But before they had half reached the hut, they
discovered with horror that the burthen, which at every step had
appeared to grow heavier, was a corpse. Whether it was the effect of
the too hastily swallowed drink, or the too rapid satisfaction of his
appetite after long fasting, in either case, the father lay dead in
the arms of his sons. With tears of regret, and self-reproaches for
their ill-advised attempt, the afflicted sons buried the beloved
corpse, under an oak not far from the cottage.

They lived together for some time after this event, but at length,
being imbued with the desire of seeing foreign countries, they
resolved to renounce their hitherto rude mode of life, and each to set
out in a different direction to seek his fortune.

When they had fixed the day for their separation they once more went
hunting together, in order to provide so much food as they might
require for at least the first day of their wandering. On the day
appointed for their departure they went to the oak which shaded their
father's grave, swore eternal brotherly love to each other, and after
mutually taking an affectionate leave, each pursued his separate way.

To relate what occurred to each of these twelve brethren, and how each
fulfilled his appointed destiny, would be a very tedious task, and the
more so as the fate of the younger brother was alone sufficiently
remarkable to deserve attention.

This youth had from his earliest years an aversion to all kind of
labour and trouble; hence, in all his necessities he always relied on
the favour of Fortune, and the more so as he had more than once had
reason to surmise that she was favourably inclined towards him. Whilst
his brothers laboriously pursued their game under every disadvantage
of time, place, and weather, he would lie at his ease, with his
weapons beside him, on a grassy hill, beneath the shade of the trees;
and it generally came to pass that whilst his brothers pursued some
poor hare, in the sweat of their brow, a roebuck would come, as if at
his call, so near to him that he could shoot it without the least
exertion. Owing to this, he had to endure many a jeer from his
brethren, whose jealousy was excited by his good luck, and they called
him in derision Lazy Bones.

His confidence in the favour of the blind goddess guided him
prosperously on his way. By day he shot all kinds of game, which came
in abundance towards him, kindled a fire, roasted and eat it; at
night, he stretched himself on the soft grass, and slept refreshingly
till the next morning. After he had pursued his way in this manner for
six days, he arrived at a royal city altogether unknown to him. He
entered one of the best inns, and offered the host a hare in exchange
for a draught of wine, to refresh himself with after the fatigue of
his journey. The host gave him credit for more than he was able both
to eat and drink, offered him a bed, and charged him the most moderate
price.

Just as he sat down to table, a multitude of persons assembled in the
room of the inn, and conversed with each other about a most remarkable
occurrence which had just taken place. The affair was indeed one of no
trifling importance, for it concerned the royal establishment. The
king had had ninety-nine swineherds, who one and all had disappeared,
and in all probability would never again be heard of. The
nine-and-ninetieth of these had been missed only the night before, and
it was much doubted whether the king would be able to find any one
again who would be willing to undertake so perilous a charge. For
although the highest wages were offered to any one who would undertake
to tend the royal swine but for a single day, yet no one throughout
the whole kingdom had yet offered himself, and the illustrious owner
of the swine was in great risk of losing them all.

The young stranger listened to this narration with surprise, but could
not conjecture what could be the difficulty attached to the service.
As the host had for some time been employed in looking out for
swineherds for the king, he asked his young guest whether he would
undertake the office, adding at the same time, that the king would
give a year's wages for a single day's service.

"Why not?" replied Pista, (that was the young adventurer's name) and
he declared himself quite willing to undertake the charge, as he
thought the business of a swineherd did not demand more skill and
trouble than he was accustomed to exert. His consent thus given, the
host joyfully conducted him to the king and praised throughout the
whole city the courageous resolution of his guest.

The monarch received them both graciously, and not only confirmed the
offer made by the host to the youth, but promised him a gratuity into
the bargain, in case of his discharging his duty with zeal and
perseverance.

He commanded a capital supper to be placed before him, and appointing
him to drive the swine in the morning to the heath, he dismissed him
with the most gracious wishes for his welfare.

Before the dawn of day, Pista was already at his post. The heath lay
in a pleasant district, inclosed on the one side by mountains, and on
the other by a thick forest. On his arrival there he found all
tranquil, and could not imagine what danger was to be apprehended.

He passed the day in expectation, and the evening approached as
peacefully as the day had departed. The moon and stars shed their
light over the district, and the refreshing coolness of the air
invited the carefree herdsman to repose. He lay calmly down near his
herd, commended them and himself to fortune, and slept in peace.

He had not slept an hour, when the most extraordinary of all night
visions awakened him. The oldest patriarch of the herd stood before
him, and thus addressed him: "Fear not, for I am thy friend, and come
to thee as a well-intentioned counsellor, to warn thee of the danger
that awaits thee. As I have selected thee for my protégé, I will
assist thee to the best of my power. When thou drivest us home
to-morrow, mind to request the king to give thee a loaf of bread and a
flask of wine, for the following day. These shall preserve thee from
all misfortune. A great dragon who rules this forest, will endeavour
to overthrow and swallow thee. But if thou givest him these gifts,
thou wilt not only be able to resist him, but after he shall have
drunk the wine thou mayest destroy him."

Pista was not a little astonished at this apparition; he rubbed his
eyes, pricked up his ears, and collected all his senses, to convince
himself that he was really awake and not dreaming. But when he saw the
boar standing bodily before him, and distinctly heard every word, he
at last returned him grateful thanks for his friendly admonition, and
promised punctually to observe his instructions.

The following evening he drove the herd home. The king met him, not
without astonishment, caused the year's wages to be paid to him
immediately, and gave him permission further to ask some favour.
Pista, well pleased, put the money in his pocket, and for the present
asked for nothing more than bread and wine for the following evening.

The cock had scarcely crowed to welcome the first hour of the morning,
when our herdsman again passed out at the city gate with his herd. He
betook himself to the same heath where he had passed the foregoing
night, and had had the strange _tête-à-tête_ with the boar.

As soon as he reached the spot, his bristly Mentor again approached
him and said:--

    "Up and mount me without fear,
    Swift on my back I thee will bear;
    So that, ere many minutes' space,
    Thou shalt reach the appointed place."

The youth bestrode the boar, and in a trice found himself in the
neighbouring wood, and deposited under an enormous oak. The boar then
repeated what he had said to his protégé the preceding day, and
hastened back to the herd.

Pista prepared himself for his adventure, and before he could
accurately reconnoitre the field of battle, so dreadful a noise
proceeding from the interior of the forest pierced his ears, that all
the trees round him creaked and rustled as in a storm. It came nearer
and nearer, and he soon perceived a monstrous dragon, rapidly making
towards him, tearing the bushes and trees as he passed, and even
throwing them to the ground. Mindful of his Mentor's words, Pista took
courage, offered the bread and wine to the dragon, and besought him to
spare his life.

This liberal offer astonished the dragon more than the resistance of a
whole band of herdsmen would have done. He quietly received the gifts,
devoured the bread with much satisfaction, and as the wine speedily
took effect, he drowsily tumbled on the earth. Pista did not delay to
avail himself of the opportunity. When he perceived that the dragon
slept, he drew out his knife and cut the throat of the drunken
monster; before, however, he had completed the operation, he saw a
copper key fall out of his jaws, which he picked up and put in his
pocket.

[Illustration: FORTUNE'S FAVOURITE. P. 292.]

In the meantime, the herd had gradually moved towards the interior of
the forest, to a considerable distance from the spot where the dragon
had met his death. Pista, fearing he might lose the objects of his
charge, resolved to cut across the bend of the forest, and to go in a
straight line, the same by which the dragon had come, to look after
them.

He had not gone far, when a new overwhelming surprise banished them
from his thoughts. An immense castle, entirely built of copper, stood
before him, far surpassing in splendour the residence of his king, and
which seemed the more to invite him to enter, inasmuch as he could
nowhere descry a single guard to forbid his approach.

Solitary and silent was all around him: not even the song of a bird
broke the stillness. Hastening up to the castle, he found all the
gates locked; but suddenly remembering the key in his pocket, he drew
it out and tried it in the nearest gate, and discovered to his joyful
surprise that it opened every lock. He soon found himself in the
interior of a most magnificent palace, with such a number of state
rooms opening round him, that he could hardly tell which he should
first enter. He passed through the grand hall and went from room to
room, until he at last reached a great saloon, the walls of which were
mirrors, whilst all manner of gold and silver articles of furniture
glittered round him. In the centre of the room stood a table of
silver, whereon lay a golden rod. Without precisely knowing wherefore,
he took up the rod and struck the table with it, upon which a young
dragon immediately appeared, and with indescribable courtesy begged
that he would honour him with his commands.

Recovering from his surprise, Pista expressed a wish to be shown the
whole interior of the palace, with the gardens belonging to it. The
obliging dragon immediately complied with, and requested his guest to
follow him. He led him through all the chambers and halls of the
palace, each of which seemed to contain the treasure of a whole
kingdom; thence into the stables, where splendid coursers fed from
silver mangers on golden oats, and who neighed loudly at the entrance
of their visitors.

At last Pista and his attendant came into a garden full of
marvellously beautiful flowers and delicious fruits, which seemed to
the stranger like a second paradise. He could not refrain from
plucking a rose, which he stuck in his cap.

[Illustration]

When he had seen all, he inquired of the dragon for the lord of the
palace. The dragon bowed before him with the greatest reverence, and
begged him, as the owner from thenceforth of the palace and its
treasures, graciously to accept his homage, promising at the same time
that he would guard all with the utmost vigilance, and endeavour to
deserve his approbation.

Pista was not a little astonished at this address, but as all the
events which had befallen him within the last few days, appeared to
him to be nothing less than natural, he accepted the dragon's homage,
and played the part of master as well as he could. Having nodded
approbation to his new servitor, he left the castle with proud
gravity. The portals closed of themselves after him with thundering
noise; he then carefully locked all the gates with his key, and
returned to seek his swine.

It was not long before he met the whole herd in the best order. The
sun was already glowing in the west, and the shadows of the mountains
stretched across the plains. It seemed time to turn homewards; he
whistled; the herd put itself in motion; and before the evening star
shone in the heavens, they were all at home again in their sheds.

Pista had no sooner housed his charge, than the king's daughters came
running towards him with the most unusual friendliness. The youngest
had seen from afar the rose in his cap, and as she could not resist
the desire to possess it, she begged from him the lovely flower. The
swineherd instantly presented it to the princess, and thought himself
highly honoured when he saw his gift placed in the bosom of the most
charming of the royal maidens.

The king, meanwhile, deeply amazed at the no less punctual than safe
return of his herdsman, sent for him into his presence, and inquired
particularly about all that had occurred to him on the heath. But
Pista carefully avoided satisfying his curiosity; gave very brief
answers to his questions; and said nothing that could betray his
fortunate adventure.

"This rose," said he, "which I found already plucked, and lying on the
stem of a tree, is all that I saw on my way. I stuck it in my hat that
it might not fade quite unenjoyed."

The king again expressed his entire satisfaction and favour; and
promised for the future days the same rich reward he had already
enjoyed.

The herdsman thanked his patron and returned to his swine, in order to
pass the night near them on his bed of straw.

Just about midnight the friendly boar awakened him as on the
preceding night, and said, "Pista must provide himself with bread and
wine for the coming day also, as he would have to do with a still
larger dragon than the former."

He advised him to double the measure of provisions, and told him he
would have nothing to fear if he encountered the monster as
courageously as he did that of the day before.

Before day-break Pista supplied himself with two loaves and two flasks
of wine, and went as usual with the swine to the heath. Arrived there,
the boar again approached him and said:--

    "Up and mount me without fear,
    Swift on my back I will thee bear;
    This day thou must higher go,
    And still higher fortune know."

The youth obeyed the boar, and sooner than if on a racer's back he
found himself by an inclosure, considerably beyond the place where he
stopped the day before. The boar again deposited him under an oak,
repeated several times what he had before enforced, and left him to
his destiny.

Pista had not long to wait; he soon heard a terrible rustling
descending from the tops of the trees. By degrees it grew darker
around him, and at once a monstrous dragon, much larger than the
first, came sailing through the air, whose out-spread wings shaded,
like a thunder-cloud, the district beneath, as with furious haste he
seemed descending on the herdsman. But Pista lost no time in offering
him the two loaves and the two flasks, which so fortunately appeased
the monster that he immediately stretched himself on the grass, and,
much at his ease, swallowed the provisions, and then fell asleep and
snored like thunder. Pista again seized the favourable moment and cut
the dragon's throat, from whose jaws fell a silver key, which he put
at once into his pocket.

Then he went, as on the preceding day, into the interior of the
forest, and soon saw a palace built entirely of silver, which dazzled
his eyes from afar by its brilliancy. All that he saw and did in the
Copper Palace, he saw and did here; only the magnificence of the one
far exceeded that of the other, and caused him to linger here much
longer. After a very obsequious dragon had shown him all the
treasures, and at last led him into the garden, he plucked there a
silver rose, of which there were great numbers, and stuck it in his
cap. He then locked the gates of his beautiful palace with the silver
key, returned to his herd, and as the day was declining, drove them
quietly home.

As before, the king's daughters came familiarly to meet him, and the
youngest snatched the silver rose from him, and ran playfully with it
to her father. The king sent for him as before, questioned him of all
that had occurred, and having received satisfactory answers, expressed
his entire approbation.

The same adventure occurred on the third day, with the sole difference
that the herdsman this time entered a Golden Palace, and brought from
the garden a golden rose, which the fair princess appropriated as
before.

It happened that a festival which the king had long resolved to give
to the suitors of his daughters, was just about to be held. He caused
three golden apples of the same size to be made, on each of which he
had inscribed the name of one of the princesses. These he ordered to
be suspended by golden threads in the front court of his castle, as
the prize of a trial of skill, for which the victor was to receive the
hand of one of the princesses. Whoever, at full gallop, should succeed
in striking down with his lance one of these apples, was to receive
the golden fruit and the princess whose name it bore. As the three
sisters were no less extraordinarily beautiful than rich, it may
easily be guessed that the number of their suitors was not small. A
countless number of princes from far and near were assembled in the
royal city, and the king's brother was also present with his nine
daughters. The whole kingdom took a lively interest in this festival,
and young and old rejoiced at its commencement. Whatever the royal
treasures could produce was exhibited there, and all the rich and
noble flocked thither to contribute their share towards enhancing the
pomp of the long looked for feast.

As it was to be supposed that Pista would not willingly be absent from
such a grand sight, the youngest princess, out of gratitude for her
three roses, invited him to witness it; advising him not to stay away
if he had any curiosity to see all the most precious of her father's
possessions, in horses, clothes, and jewels. But to the no small
surprise of the princess, the herdsman thanked her for her invitation,
but said he preferred remaining with his equals, and would tend the
swine as usual.

The morning arrived, and all within and around the city was in motion.
The streets swarmed with countless people: even the most helpless
cripples dragged themselves along, anxious to see the show. Pista
alone drove forth his swine with the utmost indifference, and did not
evince the slightest curiosity.

Who could have guessed, however, what the homely youth had secretly
determined, and what a trick he had resolved to play on all the
princely suitors? He no sooner reached the heath than he hastened to
the forest where his late adventures had occurred. He went to the
Copper Palace, entered the hall, and with a stroke of the golden wand
commanded the serviceable dragon to provide for him the most
magnificent attire and the finest courser. The dragon rapidly obeyed
his master's order, dressed him as expeditiously and handily as the
most experienced valet could have done, and then as quickly cantered
up a splendidly caparisoned steed, who seemed to breathe fire as he
neighed with desire for the combat.

Pista mounted his horse, and the courts of the castle thundered
beneath his tramp. He flew, as if borne on the lightning's wing, over
the heath and road, and suddenly appeared in the lists of the royal
disputants. The brilliancy of his attire, the swiftness and strength
of his horse, and the costly jewels that adorned him, dazzled all
eyes, and it could not have occurred to any one that in him they
beheld the swineherd. The king himself thought he must be his equal
in dignity, and offered him the honour of precedence. But Pista
declined this distinction, and requested, on the contrary, to be
allowed to be the last on the list of suitors.

At last the signal was given. All pressed to the lists, and the race
began. Riders and horses flew emulously towards the prize, but not one
succeeded in even touching either of the apples with his lance.

Suddenly the unknown guest darted over the course like an arrow, and
hit the first of the three apples so dexterously, that it, together
with the golden thread to which it was fastened, remained hanging on
his lance. The gaze of all was fixed upon him; but without vouchsafing
a look on any, he flew with his prize straight across the lists and
disappeared.

This unexpected circumstance created universal embarrassment amongst
the disconcerted suitors, and determined the king to postpone the
remainder of the festival until the following day. Meanwhile he sent
some of his swiftest riders in search of the strange fugitive, in
order to discover, if possible, whence he came. But before these were
ready to start, our knight had already become invisible, and, in his
herdsman's dress, had again rejoined his swine.

In the evening, as usual, he brought them home, and attended to them
in the customary manner. But before he retired to rest, the youngest
of the princesses descried him, and hastening to him, related in great
agitation the untoward event which had that day deprived her of the
apple destined to her, and at the same time of him who should have
been her bridegroom. The herdsman expressed his great sympathy, and
tried to console her, by saying that no one could tell whether the
misfortune that had happened might not in the end turn out to her
advantage.

The next day, before the ceremonies recommenced, Pista was again on
the heath with his herd. This day he went to the Silver Palace,
attired himself still more splendidly, and mounted a yet finer horse.
Swift as the wind, and resplendent in gold and jewels, he again sprang
to the lists. All were astonished at this second apparition. All
inclined themselves before him, and no one recognised in him the same
guest who had so distinguished himself on the preceding day.

But, as yesterday, all eyes were riveted on him; he set spurs to his
horse, and sprang with hanging bridle to the prize, then flew like an
arrow, bearing the second apple across the lists, and disappeared
from the sight of the astonished multitude.

The king and his illustrious guests now began to apprehend that some
supernatural power influenced these events, and they had nearly
determined not to renew the trial of skill till the following year.
But as already two of the golden apples were lost, they could not
resist their curiosity respecting the third and last. The king
therefore appointed the conclusion of the festival for the next
morning, and in the meantime endeavoured to tranquillise himself as
well as he could.

As before, so was it on this third occasion. The herdsman had gone
early to the heath, and now appeared in an attire, and mounted on a
horse, this time procured from the Golden Palace, both of which
infinitely surpassed the two former. He carried off the third apple,
and fled, to the wonder of all, swift as the wind, far out of sight.

The festival was now over; the assembly separated; the suitors
returned to their homes, and the king lamented the fate of his beloved
daughters. The daughters shed many tears, and mourned over their fate
as an appointment of Heaven, forbidding them ever to have a
bridegroom.

As the very first of these occurrences had caused the king entirely
to forget to pay the herdsman his daily wages, the latter had now
three days' hire due to him. Pista therefore availed himself of the
pretext of demanding his wages as a good opportunity to learn what
impression his three adventures had made at court. That same evening,
when he brought home his herd, he presented himself before the king,
but apprehending that, if he left his three apples in the stall, they
might be purloined, he concealed them in his hat, which he retained on
his head, although in presence of his monarch.

The king perceived this disrespectful conduct of his herdsman not
without surprise; but, as he was exceedingly well disposed towards
him, on account of his great services, he indulgently asked him what
he required. Pista had scarcely prepared himself to make his request,
when the youngest, and now exceedingly discontented princess entered,
and with an air of highly offended pride, snatched his hat off his
head.

The golden apples fell out of it, and rolled to the monarch's feet.

What was the astonishment of the whole court! The princesses
recognised their names, and could not express their delight at finding
their apples. The king pressed the youth in the most gracious terms
to explain how he had come by them.

Pista replied, with the utmost frankness, that he was the winner of
the three apples, and therefore thought he had a full right to one of
the princesses for his bride.

Now, as the king, mindful of the unexampled splendour, as also the
extraordinary good fortune by which the stranger had distinguished
himself in the lists, anticipated some still greater advantage behind
the darkness of this mysterious occurrence, he admitted the herdsman's
claim with very little hesitation.

The youngest of the princesses felt herself suddenly cheered, and so
powerfully attracted to the metamorphosed swineherd, that in spite of
his peasant's dress she threw her arms around his neck. The king
immediately decided that he should become her husband, and the
following morning the wedding was celebrated with the utmost
magnificence, in presence of the whole court, at the Golden Palace in
the forest, which Pista immediately selected for his residence.

When the banquet was over, the bridegroom commanded his faithful
dragon, who had already the day before provided a numerous
establishment of domestics of his own winged race, immediately to
bring hither his eleven brothers, whose respective names he had
furnished him with, and had described their persons as accurately as
he could.

Before the sun went down the eleven brothers were seen coming at full
gallop to the Golden Palace. By the care of the ever active dragon
they were all splendidly dressed, and they rejoiced and wondered not a
little at the unexpected change in their destiny.

Two of them married the sisters of their royal sister-in-law, and the
rest married the nine daughters of the other king. They soon conquered
for themselves as many kingdoms, and lived happily together till their
dying day.




THE LUCKY DAYS.

[Italian.]


At Casena, in Romagna, lived a poor widow, a very worthy, industrious
woman, by name Lucietta. She unfortunately had an only son, who, for
stupidity and laziness, had yet to find his equal. He would lie in bed
till noon, and when he did resolve to rise, he took a full hour to rub
his eyes, and then he would be nearly as long stretching his arms and
legs; in short, he behaved like the veriest sluggard upon earth.

This grieved his mother very much, for she had once hoped that he
would some day become the support of her old age; and she never ceased
to urge and advise him, in order to make him a little more active and
industrious.

"My son," she often said to him, "he who would see good days in this
world must exert himself, be industrious, and rise at break of day;
for good fortune favours the industrious and the vigilant, but never
comes to the lazy and sluggardly. Therefore, my son, if you will
believe my counsel, and follow it, then you shall see good days, and
all will fall out to your heart's content."

Lucilio--that was the young man's name--the silliest of the silly,
unquestionably heard what his mother said, but he did not understand
the meaning of her words. He got up as if he were waking out of a deep
and heavy sleep, and sauntered along the road before the city gate,
where he stretched himself, in order to finish his nap, right across
the pathway, so that all entering or leaving the city could not avoid
stumbling over him.

It so happened that the very night before, three inhabitants of the
city had gone out to bury a treasure which they had accidentally
discovered. They had succeeded in finding it again, and were in the
act of carrying it home, when they came upon Lucilio, who still lay
across the road, but no longer sleeping. He had just waked up, and was
looking round him for one of the good days his mother had prophesied
to him.

"Heaven send you a good day, friend," said the first of the three men,
as he walked over him.

"Heaven be praised!" said Lucilio, when he heard the words. "Now I
shall have a good day!"

The man who had buried the treasure, conscious of his fault, fancied
directly that these words bore reference to him, and that the secret
had been betrayed. This was quite natural; for whoever has a bad
conscience, always interprets the most indifferent words as an
allusion to himself.

The second man then stumbled over Lucilio, likewise wishing him, as
his predecessor had done, a good day. Whereupon Lucilio, still
dwelling on the good days, said to himself, but half loud, "Now I have
two of them!"

The third followed and saluted him as the two others had done, also
wishing that Heaven might send him a good day. Up started Lucilio,
overjoyed, and exclaiming, "Oh! delightful! Now I have got all three
of them! I am fortunate!"

He alluded only to three lucky days; but the buriers of the treasure
thought he meant them; and as they feared he might go and give
information of them to the magistrate, they took him aside, told him
the whole affair, and, to bribe him into silence, gave him the fourth
part of the treasure.

Well pleased, Lucilio took his portion, carried it home to his mother,
and said, "Dear mother, Heaven's blessing has been with me; for, as I
did as you desired, so I have found the good days. Take this money,
and buy with it all we require."

The mother was not a little pleased at the fortunate occurrence, and
urged her son to go on exerting himself that he might find more such
good days.




THE FEAST OF THE DWARFS.

[Icelandish.]


Not very far from Drontheim, in Norway, dwelt a powerful man, blessed
with all the gifts of fortune. A considerable portion of the land
around belonged to him; numerous herds grazed in his pastures, and a
numerous establishment of domestics contributed to the grandeur of his
dwelling. He had an only daughter called Aslog, whose beauty was
celebrated far and near. The most illustrious of her countrymen sought
to obtain her hand, but without success; and those who arrived gay and
full of hope, rode away in silence and with heavy hearts. Her father,
who thought that his daughter's rejection of so many suitors proceeded
from her anxiety to make a prudent choice, did not interfere, and
rejoiced to think that she was so discreet. At length, however, when
he perceived that the noblest and the most wealthy of the land were
rejected equally with all others, he grew angry, and thus addressed
her:--

"Hitherto I have left you at full liberty to make your own selection;
but, as I observe that you reject all indiscriminately, and that the
most eligible suitors are yet in your opinion not good enough for you,
I shall no longer permit such conduct. Is my race, then, to be
extinguished, and are my possessions to fall into the hands of
strangers? I am resolved to bend your stubborn will. I give you time
for consideration until the great winter nights' festival; if you
shall not then have made your election, be prepared to accept him whom
I determine upon for you."

Aslog loved a handsome, brave, and noble youth, whose name was Orm.
She loved him with her whole soul, and would have preferred death to
giving her hand to any one but him. But Orm was poor, and his poverty
compelled him to take service in her father's house. Aslog's love for
him was therefore kept secret, for her haughty father would never have
consented to an alliance with a man in so subordinate a position. When
Aslog beheld his stern aspect and heard his angry words, she became
deathly pale, for she knew his disposition, and was well aware that he
would put his threat in execution. Without offering a word in reply,
she withdrew to her chamber, there to consider how to escape the storm
that menaced her.

The great festival drew near, and her anxiety increased daily.

At length the lovers resolved to fly. "I know a hiding place," said
Orm, "where we can remain undiscovered till we find an opportunity of
quitting the country."

During the night, whilst all were asleep, Orm conducted the trembling
Aslog across the snow and fields of ice to the mountains. The moon and
stars, which always seem brightest in the cold winter's night, lighted
them on their way. They had brought with them some clothes and furs,
but that was all they could carry.

They climbed the mountains the whole night long, till they arrived at
a solitary spot completely encircled by rock. Here Orm led the weary
Aslog into a cave, the dark and narrow entrance to which was scarcely
perceptible; it soon widened, however, into a spacious chamber that
penetrated far into the mountain. Orm kindled a fire, and they sat
beside it, leaning against the rock, shut out from the rest of the
world.

Orm was the first who had discovered this cavern, which is now shown
as a curiosity; and, as at that time no one knew of its existence,
they were secure from the pursuit of Aslog's father. Here they passed
the winter. Orm went out to chase the wild animals of the lonely
region, and Aslog remained in the cave, attended to the fire, and
prepared their necessary food. She frequently climbed to the summit of
the rock, but, far as her eye could reach, it beheld only the
sparkling snow-fields.

Spring arrived, the woods became green, the fields arrayed themselves
in bright colours, and Aslog dared now only seldom, and with great
precaution, to emerge from her cavern.

One evening Orm returned home bringing news that he had recognised, at
a distance, her father's people, and that they had no doubt also
descried him, as they could see as clearly as himself. "They will
surround this place," continued he, "and not rest till they have found
us; we must therefore instantly be off."

They immediately descended the mountain on the other side, and reached
the sea-shore, where they fortunately found a boat. Orm pushed off,
and the boat was driven into the open sea. They had, it is true,
escaped their pursuers, but they were now exposed to perils of another
kind. Whither should they turn? They dared not land, for Aslog's
father was lord of the whole coast, and they would so fall into his
hands. Nothing remained, therefore, for them, but to commit the boat
to the winds and waves, which pursued its way all night, so that at
day-break the coast had disappeared, and they saw only sky and water;
they had not brought any provisions with them, and hunger and thirst
began to torture them. Thus they drove on for three days, and Aslog,
weak and exhausted, foresaw their certain destruction.

At length, on the evening of the third day, they beheld an island of
considerable size, surrounded by a multitude of lesser islets. Orm
immediately steered towards it, but, as they approached it, a gale
arose and the waves swelled higher and higher; he turned the boat in
hopes to be able to land on some other side, but equally without
success. Whenever the bark approached the island, it was driven back
as if by some invisible force.

Orm, gazing on the unhappy Aslog, who seemed dying from exhaustion,
crossed himself, and uttered an exclamation, which had scarcely passed
his lips, when the storm ceased, the waves sank, and the little bark
landed without further obstruction. He then sprang on shore, and a few
mussels which he collected, so revived and strengthened the exhausted
Aslog, that in a short time she also was able to quit the boat.

The island was entirely covered with dwarf mushrooms, and appeared to
be uninhabited; but when they had penetrated nearly to the centre of
it they perceived a house, half of which only was above the ground,
and the other half under it. In the hope that they might find human
help they joyfully approached it; they listened for some sound, but
the deepest silence prevailed all around. At length Orm opened the
door and entered with his companion; great was their astonishment,
however, when they perceived everything prepared as if for
inhabitants, but no living being visible. The fire burnt on the hearth
in the middle of the room, and a kettle with fish hung over it,
waiting, probably, for some one to make a meal of its contents; beds
were ready prepared for the reception of sleepers. Orm and Aslog stood
for a time doubtful, and looked fearfully about; at length, impelled
by hunger, they took the food and eat it. When they had satisfied
their hunger, and, by the last rays of the sun, could not discover any
one far and wide, they yielded to fatigue and lay down on the beds, a
luxury which they had so long been deprived of.

They had fully expected to be awakened in the night by the return of
the owners of the house, but they were deceived in their expectation;
throughout the following day, also, no one appeared, and it seemed as
if some invisible power had prepared the house for their reception.
Thus did they pass the whole summer most happily; it is true they were
alone, but the absence of mankind was not felt by them. The eggs of
wild-fowl and the fish which they caught afforded them sufficient
provision.

When autumn approached, Aslog bore a son, and in the midst of their
rejoicing at his arrival they were surprised by a wonderful
apparition.--The door opened suddenly, and an old woman entered; she
wore a beautiful blue garment, and in her form and manner was
something dignified, and at the same time unusual and strange.

"Let not my sudden appearance alarm you," said she. "I am the owner of
this house, and I thank you for having kept it so clean and well, and
that I now find everything in such good order. I would willingly have
come sooner, but I could not until the little heathen there--pointing
to the infant--had established himself here. Now I have free access;
but do not, I pray you, fetch a priest here from the main-land to
baptise him, for then I shall be obliged to go away again. If you
fulfil my wish, not only may you remain here, but every good you can
desire I will bestow on you; whatever you undertake shall succeed;
good fortune shall attend you wherever you go. But if you break this
condition, you may assure yourselves that misfortune on misfortune
shall visit you, and I will even avenge myself on the child. If you
stand in need of anything, or are in danger, you have only to
pronounce my name thrice: I will appear and aid you. I am of the race
of the ancient giants, and my name is Guru. Beware, however, of
pronouncing, in my presence, the name that no giant likes to hear, and
never make the sign of the cross, nor cut it in any of the boards in
the house. You may live here the year round; only on Yule evening be
so kind as to leave the house to me as soon as the sun goes down. Then
we celebrate our great festival, the only occasion on which we are
permitted to be merry. If, however, you do not like to quit the house,
remain as quietly as possible under ground, and, as you value your
lives, do not look into the room before midnight; after that hour you
may again take possession of all."

When the old woman had thus spoken, she disappeared, and Aslog and
Orm, thus rendered easy as to their position, lived on without
disturbance contented and happy. Orm never cast his net without a good
draught--never shot an arrow that did not hit--in short, whatever he
undertook, however trifling it might be, prospered visibly.

When Christmas came they made the house as clean as possible, set
everything in order, kindled a fire on the hearth, and on the approach
of twilight descended to the under part of the house, where they
remained quiet and silent. At length it grew dark, and they fancied
they heard a rustling and snorting in the air, like that which the
swans make in the winter season. In the wall over the hearth was an
aperture that could be opened and shut to admit light, or to let out
smoke. Orm raised the lid, which was covered with a skin, and put out
his head, when a wonderful spectacle presented itself. The little
surrounding islets were illuminated by countless little blue lights,
which moved incessantly, danced up and down, then slid along the
shore, collected together, and approached nearer and nearer to the
island in which Orm and Aslog dwelt. When they reached it they
arranged themselves in a circle round a great stone, which stood not
very far from the shore, and which was well known to Orm. But how
great was his astonishment, when he saw that the stone had assumed a
perfectly human form, although of gigantic stature. He could now
clearly distinguish that the lights were carried by dwarfs, whose pale
earth-coloured faces, with large noses and red eyes, in the form of
birds' beaks and owls' eyes, surmounted mis-shapen bodies. They
waddled and shuffled here and there, and seemed to be sad and gay at
the same time. Suddenly the circle opened, the little people drew back
on either side, and Guru, who now appeared as large as the stone,
approached with giant steps. She threw her arms around the stony
figure, which at that moment received life and movement. At the first
indication of this, the little people set up, accompanied by
extraordinary grimaces and gestures, such a song, or rather howl, that
the whole island resounded and shook with the noise. Orm, quite
terrified, drew in his head, and he and Aslog now remained in the dark
so quiet, that they scarcely dared to breathe.

[Illustration: THE FEAST OF THE DWARFS. P. 322.]

The procession arrived at the house, as was clearly perceived by the
nearer approach of the howl. They now all entered. Light and
active, the dwarfs skipped over the benches; heavy and dull sounded
the steps of the giants among them. Orm and his wife heard them lay
out the table and celebrate their feast with the clattering of plates
and cries of joy. When the feast was over and midnight was
approaching, they began to dance to that magic melody which wraps the
soul in sweet bewilderment, and which has been heard by some persons
in the valleys and amid the rocks, who have thus learnt the air from
subterranean musicians.

No sooner did Aslog hear the melody than she was seized with an
indescribable longing to witness the dance. Orm was unable to restrain
her. "Let me look," said she, "or my heart will break." She took her
infant and placed herself at the furthest extremity of the chamber,
where she could see everything without being herself seen. Long did
she watch, without turning away her eyes, the dance, and the agile and
wonderful steps and leaps of the little beings, who seemed to float in
the air and scarcely to touch the ground, whilst the enchanting music
of the elfs filled her soul.

In the mean time the infant on her arm grew sleepy and breathed
heavily, and, without remembering the promise she had made to the old
woman, she made the sign of the cross (as is the custom) over the
child's mouth, and said, "Christ bless thee, my child!" She had
scarcely uttered the words when a fearful piercing cry arose. The
sprites rushed headlong out of the house, their lights were
extinguished, and in a few minutes they had all left the house. Orm
and Aslog, terrified almost to death, hid themselves in the remotest
corner of the house. They ventured not to move until day-break, and,
not until the sun shone through the hole over the hearth, did they
find courage to come out of their hiding-place.

The table was still covered as the sprites had left it, with all their
precious and wonderfully wrought silver vessels. In the middle of the
room stood, on the ground, a high copper vessel half filled with sweet
metheglin, and by its side a drinking-horn of pure gold. In the corner
lay a stringed instrument, resembling a dulcimer, on which, as it is
believed, the female giants play. They gazed with admiration on all,
but did not venture to touch anything. Greatly were they startled,
however, when, on turning round, they beheld, seated at the table, a
monstrous form, which Orm immediately recognised as the giant whom
Guru had embraced. It was now a cold hard stone. Whilst they stood
looking at it, Guru herself, in her giant form, entered the room. She
wept so bitterly that her tears fell on the ground, and it was long
before her sobs would allow her utterance; at length she said:--

"Great sorrow have you brought upon me; I must now weep for the
remainder of my days. As, however, I know that you did it not from any
evil intention, I forgive you, although it would be easy for me to
crumble this house over your heads like an egg-shell.

"Ah!" exclaimed she, "there sits my husband, whom I loved better than
myself, turned for ever into stone, never again to open his eyes. For
three hundred years I lived with my father in the island of Kuman,
happy in youthful innocence, the fairest amongst the virgins of the
giant race. Mighty heroes were rivals for my hand; the sea that
surrounds that island is full of fragments of rock which they hurled
at each other in fight. Andfind won the victory, and I was betrothed
to him. But before our marriage came the abhorred Odin into the
country, conquered my father, and drove us out of the island. My
father and sister fled to the mountains, and my eyes have never since
beheld them. Andfind and I escaped to this island, where we lived for
a long time in peace, and began to hope that we should never be
disturbed. But Destiny, which no one can escape, had decreed
otherwise; Oluff came from Britain. They called him the Holy, and
Andfind at once discovered that his journey would be fatal to the
giant race. When he heard Oluf's ship dashing through the waves, he
went to the shore and blew against it with all his strength. The waves
rose into mountains. But Oluf was mightier than he; his vessel flew
unharmed through the waves, like an arrow from the bow. He steered
straight to our island. When the ship was near enough for Andfind to
reach it, he grasped the prow with his right hand, and was in the act
of sending it to the bottom, as he had often done with other ships.
But Oluf, the dreadful Oluf, stepped forwards, and crossing his hands,
cried out with a loud voice:--'Stand there, a stone, until the last
day!' and in that moment my unhappy husband became a mass of stone.
The ship sailed on unhindered towards the mountain, which it severed,
and separated from it the little islands that lie around it.

"From that day all my happiness was annihilated, and I have passed my
life in loneliness and sorrow. Only on Yule evening can a petrified
giant recover life for seven hours, if one of the race embraces him,
and is willing to renounce a hundred years of life for this purpose.
It is seldom that a giant does this. I loved my husband too tenderly
not to recall him to life as often as I could, at whatever cost to
myself. I never counted how often I had done it, in order that I might
not know when the time would come when I should share his fate, and in
the act of embracing him become one with him. But ah! even this
consolation is denied me. I can never again awaken him with an
embrace, since he has heard the name which I may not utter, and never
will he again see the light until the dawn of the last day.

"I am about to quit this place. You will never again behold me. All
that is in the house I bestow on you. I reserve only my dulcimer. Let
no one presume to set foot on the little surrounding islands. There
dwells the little subterranean race, whom I will protect as long as I
live."

With these words she vanished. The following spring, Orm carried the
golden horn and the silver vessels to Drontheim, where no one knew
him. The value of these costly utensils was so great, that he was
enabled to purchase all that a rich man requires. He loaded his vessel
with his purchases, and returned to the island, where he lived for
many years in uninterrupted happiness. Aslog's father soon became
reconciled to his wealthy son-in-law.

The stone figure remained seated in the house. No one was able to
remove it thence. The stone was so hard that axe and hammer were
shivered against it, without making the slightest impression on it.
There the giant remained till a holy man came to the island, and with
one word restored it to its former place, where it still is to be
seen.

The copper vessel which the subterranean people left behind them, is
preserved as a memorial in the island, which is still called the
Island of the Hut.




THE THREE DOGS.

[Frieslandish.]


A shepherd who had two children, a son and a daughter, had, at his
death, nothing to leave them but three sheep, and the little cottage
they inhabited. On his death-bed he blessed them, and with his last
breath admonished them to divide the legacy, and share it
affectionately. When the children had buried their beloved father, the
brother asked the sister which part of the inheritance she would
prefer,--the sheep or the cottage? and as she chose the cottage, he
said, "Then I will take the sheep, and wander out in the wide world;
many a one has there found his fortune, and I am a Sunday child." With
these words he embraced his sister, and with his inheritance left his
native place.

Far and wide did he wander, and much did he suffer--fortune never once
recognising him as her son. Once, full of sorrow, uncertain whither
to bend his steps, he sat down by a cross road, when all at once there
stood before him a man accompanied by three large dogs, the one
greater than the other, strongly built, and jet black.

"Well, my brave youth," said the man, "you have there three fine
sheep, and if you choose we will exchange property; let me have your
sheep, and you shall have my dogs."

In spite of his mournful disposition, the youth could not help
laughing at the proposal. "What am I to do with your dogs?" demanded
he; "my sheep feed themselves, but your dogs will want to be fed."

"My dogs are of a peculiar kind," answered the stranger; "they will
provide for you, instead of your providing for them, and besides they
will bring you great fortune. The smallest of them is called
Bring-food; the second, Tear-to-pieces; and the great and strong one
is named Break-steel-and-iron."

The shepherd, persuaded by the stranger, gave up his sheep; and now,
to try their quality, he called out "Bring-food!" and forthwith one of
the dogs ran away, and soon returned with a great basket full of the
costliest and daintiest victuals. The shepherd was now much pleased
at his exchange, and travelled far and wide over the land.

Once on his road he met a carriage hung all over with black crape
drawn by two horses, which were covered with cloth of the same colour,
and the coachman, too, was in deep mourning. In the carriage was
seated a wondrously beautiful lady, also enveloped in the mournful
colour of sorrow, and bitterly weeping; the horses, with drooping
heads, paced slowly along. "What means this?" said he to the coachman;
but the coachman gave an evasive answer; at last, however, after much
pressing, he related as follows: "There dwells in this neighbourhood a
ferocious dragon who caused great havoc and destruction; to appease
him, and to secure the land against his devastation, a compact has
been entered into with him, and he each year receives as tribute a
fair maiden, whom he at one morsel devours and swallows. All the
maidens in the kingdom at the age of fourteen draw lots between them,
and this year the lot has fallen upon the daughter of the king: on
this account the king and the whole state were plunged into the
deepest grief; but such terror did the dragon inspire, that they dared
not refuse him the sacrifice."

The shepherd felt pity for the beautiful young princess, and followed
the carriage, which at last stopped at a high mountain. The princess
descended, and, full of despair and anguish, went slowly onwards to
meet her awful destiny. The driver, on observing that the youth
followed her, warned him; the shepherd, however, was not to be
persuaded, but followed her steps.

When they had thus advanced half-way up the mountain, the terrible
monster approached from the summit, with an awful noise, to devour the
victim. From its widely-extended jaws issued streams of burning
sulphur, its body was encircled with thick horny scales, on its feet
it had immense claws, and wings were attached to its long serpentine
neck: already was it near enough to pounce upon its prey, when the
shepherd cried out, "Tear-to-pieces!" and his second dog threw himself
upon the dragon, and attacked him with such strength and ferocity,
that, after a short combat, the monster fell exhausted and dead at the
feet of his antagonist, who, to finish his victory, wholly devoured
him, leaving only two teeth; these the shepherd put in his pocket.

The princess, overcome with the extreme emotions of fear and joy, had
fainted away; the shepherd by every means in his power tried to
restore her back to life, in which he at last succeeded. When fully
recovered, the princess threw herself at the feet of her deliverer,
thanking, and imploring him to return with her to her father, who
would richly reward him for having returned him his daughter, and
saved the country from the scourge of the dragon.

The youth answered, he would first like to see and know a little more
of the world; but in three years he would return, and by this
resolution he remained. The maiden then returned to her carriage, and
the shepherd continued his wanderings in an opposite direction.

Meanwhile the coachman, who had been a spectator of the whole, now
meditated in his own black mind how to turn this fortunate conclusion
of the tragedy to his own profit and aggrandizement. As they were
passing over a bridge, under which flowed a great stream, he turned
himself to the princess and said, "Your deliverer is gone, and was not
even anxious for your thanks. It would be a noble action of yours to
make the fortune of a poor man. If you, therefore, were to tell your
father that it was by my hand that the dragon perished, this would be
accomplished. But should you refuse to do so, I will throw you into
this deep river, and no one will ever ask after you, being all
convinced that the dragon has devoured you." The maiden cried and
prayed, but in vain; she was forced to swear that she would proclaim
the coachman as her deliverer, and never divulge the secret to any
mortal.

They then returned to the capital, where all was rejoicing and
gladness at their return. The black banners were removed from the
steeples of the church, and gay coloured ones were hoisted to replace
them. The king with tears of joy embraced his daughter and her
supposed deliverer: "Thou hast not only saved my child," said he, "but
thou hast also delivered my land from the greatest pestilence by which
it ever has been scourged: to reward you royally for your undaunted
courage, and in a manner commensurate with your great service, I
intend to bestow my daughter in marriage upon you; but as she is yet
too young, we will defer the ceremony for one year."

The coachman thanked the king, was forthwith richly apparelled,
elevated to the rank of a duke, with the possession of a dukedom, and
instructed in those polite manners requisite in his new and elevated
station. The princess was much afflicted, and bewailed her mournful
destiny most bitterly, when she was informed of the promise her father
had made; but withal she feared to break her oath. When the year was
at an end, in spite of all her entreaties she could not obtain from
her father anything beyond the promise that the wedding should be
delayed for another year. This also expired.

She again threw herself at her father's feet imploring for yet another
year, for she well remembered the promise of her young and handsome
deliverer, that in three years he would return. The king could not
resist her entreaties, and acquiesced in her prayer on the condition
that at the termination of that time she would wed the man he had
chosen for her. The time again quickly elapsed. The auspicious day was
already fixed, on the towers gay banners waved in the breeze, and the
joyful shouting of the people mounted to the sky.

On the same day a stranger, with three dogs, entered the town. On
demanding the reason of the public rejoicing, he was informed that the
king's daughter, that very day, was to be united to the man that had
delivered her and the country from the terrible dragon, which he had
slain.

The stranger, in no very measured terms, pronounced this man an
impostor, who had decked himself with other's feathers: the watch who,
passing by, had overheard him, at once apprehended him and threw him
into a strong prison guarded with doors and bars of iron. As he lay on
his bundle of straw and sorrowfully contemplated his destiny, he
thought he heard the whining of his dogs,--a gleam of hope suddenly
burst upon him--"Break-steel-and-iron!" cried he as loud as he could,
and hardly had he uttered the words when he saw the paws of his
biggest dog hard at work on the bars of his window, tearing and
breaking them down as if they had been reeds; the dog then jumped down
into the cell and bit the chains with which his master was fettered,
to pieces; whereupon both left the prison by the window as hastily as
possible. He was now again at liberty, but the thought painfully
oppressed him that another should have reaped the benefit of the deed
of which he deserved the merit and reward. He felt also very hungry,
and he called to one of his dogs, "Bring-food," which dog soon
returned with a napkin full of costly food; the napkin was marked
with a royal crown.

[Illustration]

The king was seated at table, with all the great men of his land
around him, when the dog made its appearance, and, as if in
supplication, licked the hand of the princely maiden. She at once
recognised the dog, and tied her own napkin round his neck, looking
upon his appearance as foreboding her deliverance. She then prayed her
father for a few words in private, when she disclosed to him the whole
of the secret: the king sent a messenger to see whither the dog went,
and the stranger was soon after brought into the royal presence. The
former coachman, pale and trembling at his appearance, fell upon his
knees imploring mercy; the princess at once recognised the stranger as
her saviour, who moreover proved his identity by the two dragon teeth
that he yet carried about with him. The coachman was thrown into a
deep dungeon and his dignities were conferred on the shepherd, who was
the same day wedded to the princess.

The youthful pair lived a long time in the greatest happiness. The
former shepherd often thought of his sister; and, that she might
participate in his felicity, a carriage and servants were sent to
fetch her, and before long she was pressed to the breast of her
affectionate brother; then one of the dogs said to his master, "Our
time is now expired; you need us no longer; we remained thus long with
you to see whether in fortune also you would remember your sister, or
whether the sudden acquisition of wealth and power would make you
proud, forgetful, and austere. You have not proved guilty of such
wickedness, but have shown yourself virtuous and affectionate." The
dogs then changed into birds and vanished in the air.




THE COURAGEOUS FLUTE-PLAYER.

[A traditional tale in Franconia.]


There lived once a gay-hearted musician, who played the flute in a
masterly style, and earned his living by wandering about, and playing
on his instrument in all the towns and villages he came to. One
evening he arrived at a farm-house, and resolved to stay there, as he
could not reach the next village before night-fall. The farmer gave
him a very friendly reception, made him sit down at his own table, and
after supper requested him to play him an air on his flute. When the
musician had finished, he looked out of the window, and saw by the
light of the moon, at no great distance from the farm, an ancient
castle, which was partly in ruins.

"What old castle is that?" said the musician; "and to whom did it
belong?"

The farmer then related to him, that many, many years ago, a count
had dwelt there, who was very rich, but also very avaricious. He had
been very harsh to his vassals, had never given any alms to the poor,
and had finally died without heirs, as his avarice had deterred him
from marrying. His nearest relations had then taken possession of the
castle, but had not been able to discover any money whatever in it. It
was, therefore, supposed that he must have buried the treasure, and
that it must still be lying concealed in some part of the old castle.
Many persons had gone into the castle in hopes of finding the
treasure, but no one had ever appeared again; and on this account the
authorities of the village had forbidden any access to it, and had
seriously warned all people throughout the country against going
there.

The musician listened attentively, and when the farmer had finished
his narration, he expressed the most ardent desire to go into the
castle, for he had a brave heart, and knew not fear. The farmer,
however, entreated him earnestly, even on his knees, to have regard
for his young life, and not to enter the castle. But prayers and
entreaties were vain: the musician was not to be shaken in his
resolution. Two of the farmer's men were obliged to light a couple of
lanterns and accompany the courageous musician to the old and dreaded
castle. When he reached it, he sent them home again with one of the
lanterns, and taking the other in his hand, he boldly ascended a long
flight of steps. Arrived at the top, he found himself in a spacious
hall, which had doors on all sides. He opened the first he came to,
entered a chamber, and seating himself at an old-fashioned table,
placed his light thereon, and began playing on his flute. Meanwhile,
the farmer could not close his eyes all night, through anxiety for his
fate, and often looked out of the window towards the tower, and
rejoiced exceedingly when he heard each time his guest still making
sweet music. But when, at length, the clock against the wall struck
eleven, and the flute-playing ceased, he became dreadfully alarmed,
believing no otherwise than that the ghost, or devil, or whoever it
might be that inhabited the castle, had, doubtless, twisted the poor
youth's neck. The musician, however, had continued playing without
fear until he was tired, and at length finding himself hungry, as he
had not eaten much at the farmer's, he walked up and down the room,
and looked about him. At last he spied a pot full of uncooked lentils,
and on another table stood a vessel full of water, another full of
salt, and a flask of wine. He quickly poured the water over the
lentils, added the salt, made a fire in the stove, as there was plenty
of wood by the side of it, and began to cook soup. Whilst the lentils
were stewing, he emptied the flask of wine, and began playing again on
his flute. As soon as the lentils were ready, he took them off the
fire, shook them into the plate that stood ready on the table, and eat
heartily of them. He then looked at his watch, and saw it was about
eleven o'clock. At that moment the door suddenly flew open, and two
tall black men entered, carrying on their shoulders a bier, on which
lay a coffin. Without uttering a word, they placed the bier before the
musician, who did not interrupt himself in his meal on account of
them, and then they went out again at the same door, as silently as
they had come in. As soon as they were gone the musician hastily rose
from his seat, and uncovered the coffin. A little old and shrivelled
man, with grey hair and a grey beard, lay therein; but the young man
felt no fear, and lifting him out of the coffin, placed him by the
stove, and no sooner did the body become warm, than life returned to
it. Then the musician became quite busy with the old man, gave him
some of the lentils to eat, and even fed him as a mother does her
child. At last the old man became quite animated, and said to him,
"Follow me!"

The little old man led the way, and the young flutist, taking his
lantern, followed without trepidation. They descended a long and
dilapidated flight of steps, and at last arrived in a deep gloomy
vault.

On the ground lay a great heap of money. Then the little man said to
the youth, "Divide this heap for me into two equal portions; but mind
that thou leave not anything over, for if thou dost I will deprive
thee of life!"

The youth merely smiled in reply, and immediately began to count out
the money upon two great tables, laying a piece alternately on each,
and so in no long time he had separated the heap into two equal
portions; but just at the last he found there was one kreutzer over.
After a moment's thought he drew out his pocket-knife, set the blade
upon the kreutzer, and striking it with a hammer that was lying there,
cut the coin in half. When he had thrown one half on each of the
heaps, the little man became right joyous, and said: "Thou courageous
man, thou hast released me! It is now already a hundred years that I
have been doomed to watch my treasure, which I collected out of
avarice, until some one should succeed in dividing the money into two
equal portions. Not one of the many who have tried could do it; and I
was obliged to strangle them all. One of the heaps of gold is thine;
distribute the other among the poor. Thou happy man, thou hast
released me!"

When he had uttered these words, the little old man vanished. The
youth, however, re-ascended the steps, and began again to play in the
same chamber as before, merry tunes on his flute.

Rejoiced was the farmer when he again heard the notes; and with the
earliest dawn he went to the castle and joyfully met the youth. The
latter related to him the events of the night, and then descended to
his treasure, with which he did as the little old man had commanded
him. He caused, however, the old castle to be pulled down, and there
soon stood a new one in its place, where the musician, now become a
rich man, took up his abode.




THE GLASS HATCHET.

[Hungarian.]


In a remote land there dwelt, in former days, a wealthy count. He and
his consort most ardently wished for a child, to whom they might
bequeath their riches; but a long time passed ere their wish was
gratified. At length, after twelve weary years, the countess bore a
son; but short was the time granted her to rejoice at the
accomplishment of her desire, for she died the day after the child's
birth. Before she expired, she warned her husband never to allow the
child to touch the earth with his feet, for, from the moment he should
do so he would fall into the power of a bad fairy who was on the watch
for him. The countess then breathed her last.

The boy throve well, and when he had outgrown the age for being in the
nurse's arms, a peculiarly-formed chair was constructed for him, in
which he could, unassisted, convey himself about the garden of his
father's castle. At other times he was carried in a litter, and most
carefully attended to and watched, in order that he might never touch
the earth with his feet.

As, however, the physicians, in order to supply the absence of other
exercise, prescribed riding on horseback, he was instructed in that
art as soon as he was ten years of age, and soon became proficient
enough in it to be allowed to ride out daily, without any apprehension
of danger to him being felt by his father. On these occasions he was
always attended by a numerous suite.

He rode almost every day in the forest and on the plain, and returned
safely home. In this manner many years glided away; and the warning
given by the late countess almost ceased to be dwelt upon, and the
enjoined precautions were observed rather from old habit than from any
immediate sense of their importance.

One day the youth, with his attendants, rode across the fields to a
wood, where his father frequently took the diversion of hunting. The
path led to a rivulet, the borders of which were overgrown with
bushes. The riders crossed it; when suddenly a hare, startled by the
tramp of the horses, sprang from the bush and fled through the wood.
The young count pursued, and had almost overtaken it, when the
saddle-girth of his horse broke; saddle and rider rolled together on
the ground, and at the same moment he vanished from the sight of his
terrified attendants, leaving no trace behind.

All search or enquiry was vain; and they recognised in the misfortune
the power of the evil fairy, against whom the countess had uttered her
dying warning. The old count was deeply afflicted; but as he could do
nothing to effect the deliverance of his son, he resigned himself to
fate, and lived patiently and solitary, in the hope that a more
favourable destiny might yet one day rescue the youth from the hands
of his enemy.

The young count had scarcely touched the earth before he was seized by
the invisible fairy, and carried off by her. He seemed now transported
to quite a new world, and without a hope of ever being released from
it. A strangely-built castle, surrounded by a spacious lake, was the
fairy's residence. A floating bridge, which rested only on clouds,
afforded a passage across it. On the other side were only forests and
mountains, which were constantly wrapped in a dense fog, and in which
no human voice, nor even that of any other living creature was ever
heard. All around him was awful, mysterious, and gloomy; and only on
the eastern side of the castle, where a little promontory stretched
out into the lake, a narrow path wound through a valley in the rocks,
behind which a river glistened.

As soon as the fairy with her captive arrived on her territory, she
commanded him fiercely to execute all her behests with the extremest
precision, at the risk of being punished severely for disobedience and
delay.

She then gave him a glass hatchet, bidding him cross the bridge of
clouds and go into the forest, where she expected him to cut down all
the timber before sun-set. At the same time she warned him, on pain of
her severest displeasure, not to speak to the dark maiden whom in all
probability he would meet in the forest.

The young count listened respectfully to her orders, and betook
himself with his glass hatchet to the appointed place. The bridge of
clouds seemed at each step he took to sink beneath him; but fear would
not admit of his delaying; and so he soon arrived, although much
fatigued by his mode of passage, at the wood, where he immediately
began his work.

But he had no sooner made his first stroke at a tree, than the glass
hatchet flew into a thousand splinters. The youth was so distressed he
knew not what to do, so much did he fear the chastisement that the
cruel fairy would inflict on him. He wandered hither and thither, and
at length, quite exhausted by anxiety and fatigue, he sank on the
ground and slept.

After a time something roused him; when upon opening his eyes, he
beheld the black maiden standing before him. Remembering the
prohibition he did not venture to address her. But she greeted him
kindly, and inquired if he did not belong to the owner of the domain.
The young count made a sign in the affirmative. The maiden then
related that she was in like manner bound to obey the fairy who had by
magic transformed her and forced her to wander in that ugly form,
until some youth should take pity on her and conduct her over that
river beyond which the domain of the fairy and her power did not
extend. On the further side of the river she was powerless to harm any
one who, by swimming through the waves, should reach the other shore.

These words inspired the young count with so much courage, that he
revealed to the black maiden the whole of his destiny, and asked her
counsel how he might escape punishment, since the wood was not cut
down, and the hatchet was broken.

"I know," resumed the maiden, "that the fairy, in whose power we both
are, is my own mother; but thou must not betray that I have told thee
this, for it would cost me my life. If thou wilt promise to deliver
me, I will assist thee, and will perform for thee all that my mother
commands thee to do."

The youth promised joyfully; she again warned him several times not to
say a word to the fairy that should betray her, and then gave him a
beverage, which he had no sooner drunk than he fell into a soft
slumber.

How great was his astonishment on waking to find the glass hatchet
unbroken at his feet, all the trees of the forest cut down and lying
round him!

He instantly hastened back across the cloud bridge, and informed the
fairy that her behest was obeyed. She heard with much surprise that
the forest was cut down, and that the glass hatchet was still
uninjured, and being unable to believe that he had performed all that
unassisted, she closely questioned him whether he had seen and spoken
to the black maiden. But the count strongly denied that he had, and
affirmed that he had not once looked up from his work. When she found
that she could learn nothing further from him, she gave him some bread
and water, and showed him a little dark closet where she bade him pass
the night.

Almost before day-break the fairy again wakened him, assigned him for
that day's task to cleave, with the same glass hatchet, all the wood
he had felled into billets, and then to arrange them in heaps; at the
same time she again warned him, with redoubled threats, not to go near
the black maiden, or dare converse with her.

Although his present work was in no respect easier than that of the
preceding day, the youth set off in much better spirits, for he hoped
for the assistance of the black maiden. He crossed the bridge quicker
and more lightly than the day before, and had scarcely passed it when
he beheld her. She received him with a friendly salutation; and when
she heard what the fairy had now required of him, she said, smiling,
"Do not be uneasy," and handed to him a similar beverage to that of
yesterday. The count again fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke his
work was done; for all the trees of the forest were cut up into blocks
and arranged in heaps.

He returned home quickly. When the fairy heard that he had performed
this task also, she was still more surprised than before. She again
inquired if he had seen or spoken to the black maiden; but the count
had the prudence to preserve his secret, and she was again obliged to
content herself with his denial.

On the third day she set him a new task, and this was the most
difficult of all. She commanded him to build, on the further side of
the lake, a magnificent castle, which should consist of nothing but
gold, silver, and precious stones; and if he did not build the said
castle in less than one hour's time, he might expect the most dreadful
fate.

The count listened to her commands without alarm, such was the
confidence he reposed in the black maiden. Cheerily he hastened across
the bridge, and immediately recognised the spot where the palace was
to be erected. Pickaxes, hammers, spades, and all manner of tools
requisite for building, lay scattered around; but neither gold, nor
silver, nor jewels could he spy. He had, however, scarcely begun to
feel uneasy at this circumstance, when the black maiden beckoned to
him from a rock at some distance, behind which she had concealed
herself from her mother's searching looks. The youth hastened to her
well pleased, and besought her to assist him in the execution of her
mother's orders.

This time, however, the fairy had watched the count from a window of
her castle, and descried him and her daughter just as they were about
to conceal themselves behind the rock. She set up such a frightful
scream, that the mountains and the lake re-echoed with it, and the
terrified pair scarcely dared to look out from their hiding-place,
whilst the infuriated fairy, with violent gestures and hasty strides,
her hair and garments streaming in the wind, hastened across the
bridge of clouds. The youth gave himself up for lost; each step of the
fairy seemed to bring him nearer to destruction. The maiden, however,
took courage, and bade him follow her as quickly as possible. Before
they hastened from the spot she broke a stone from the rock, uttered a
spell over it, and threw it towards the place from which her mother
was advancing. At once a glittering palace arose before the eyes of
the fairy, which dazzled her with its lustre, and delayed her by the
numerous windings of its avenue, through which she was obliged to
thread her way.

Meanwhile the black maiden hurried the count along, in order to reach
the river, the opposite bank of which alone could protect her for ever
from the persecutions of the raging fairy. But before they had got
half way, she was again so near them that her imprecations, and even
the rustling of her garments reached their ears.

The terror of the youth was extreme; he dared not to look behind him,
and had scarcely power left to advance. At every breath he fancied
that he felt the hand of the terrible fairy on his neck. Then the
maiden stopped, again uttered a spell, and was at once transformed
into a pond, whilst the count swam upon its waters under the figure of
a drake.

The fairy, incensed to the utmost at this new transformation, called
down thunder and hail on the two fugitives; but the water refused to
be disturbed, and whilst it remained calm no thunder-cloud would
approach it. She now employed her power to cause the pond to vanish
from the spot: she pronounced a magic spell, and called up a hill of
sand at her feet, which she intended should choke up the pond. But the
sand-hill drove the water still further on, and seemed rather to
augment than diminish it. When the fairy found this would not answer,
and that her art failed so entirely, she had recourse to cunning. She
threw a heap of golden nuts into the pond, hoping thereby to entice
the drake, and catch him; but he snapped at the nuts with his bill,
pushed them all back to the margin, dived here and there, and made
game of the fairy in various ways.

Finding herself again cheated, and unwilling to see the reflection of
her face in the pond, glowing, as it was, with rage and mortification,
she turned back full of fury to devise some other stratagem by which
to catch the fugitives.

She concealed herself behind the very same rock which had served them
for a place of refuge, and watched for the moment when they should
both resume their natural form in order to pursue their way.

It was not long before the maiden disenchanted herself, as well as the
count, and as they could nowhere perceive their persecutor, they both
hastened in good spirits to the river.

But scarcely had they proceeded a hundred paces, when the fairy burst
out again after them with redoubled speed, shaking at them the dagger
with which she meant to pierce them both. But she was doomed to see
her intentions again frustrated and derided; for just as she thought
she had reached the flying pair, a marble chapel rose before her, in
the narrow portal of which stood a colossal monk, to prevent her
entrance.

Foaming with passion she struck at the monk's face with her dagger,
but behold, it fell into shivers at her feet. She was beside herself
with desperation, and raved at the chapel till the columns and dome
resounded. Then she determined to annihilate the whole building and
the fugitives with it at once. She stamped thrice, and the earth began
to quake. A hollow murmur like that of a rising tempest was heard from
below, and the monk and chapel began to totter.

As soon as she perceived this, she retired to some distance behind the
edifice, that she might not be buried under its ruins. But she was
again deceived in her expectation; for she had no sooner retired from
the steps, than the monk and chapel disappeared, and an awful forest
surrounded her with its black shade, whence issued a terrible sound of
the mingled bellowing, roaring, howling and baying of wild bulls,
bears, and wolves.

Her rage gave way to terror at this new apparition, for she dreaded
every moment to be destroyed by these creatures, who all seemed to
set her power at defiance. She therefore deemed it most prudent to
work her way back through bush and briar towards the lighter side of
the forest, in order from thence again to try her might and cunning
against the hated pair.

Meantime, both had pursued their way to the river with their utmost
speed. As this river resisted all kind of enchantment, consequently it
was hostile to the black maiden whose hour of deliverance had not yet
struck, and it might have proved fatal to her; she therefore did not
let the moment for her complete disenchantment escape, but reminded
the youth of his promise. She gave him a bow and arrows and a dagger,
and instructed him in the use he was to make of these weapons.

She then vanished from his sight, and at the moment of her
disappearance, a raging boar rushed upon him, menacing to rip him up.
But the youth took courage and shot an arrow at him with such good
aim, that it pierced the animal's skull. It fell to the ground, and
from its jaws sprang a hare, which fled as on the wings of the wind
along the bank of the river. The youth again bent his bow, and
stretched the hare on the earth, when a snow-white dove rose into the
air, and circled round him with friendly cooings. As by the
directions he had received from the black maiden he was equally
forbidden to spare the dove, he sent another arrow from his bow, and
brought it down. Approaching to examine it more closely, he found in
its place an egg, which spontaneously rolled to his feet.

The final transformation now drew near. A powerful vulture sailed down
upon him with wide stretched beak threatening him with destruction.
But the youth seized the egg, waited till the bird approached him, and
cast it into its throat. The monster at once disappeared, and the
loveliest maiden the count had ever beheld stood before his delighted
eyes.

Whilst these events were occurring, the fairy had worked her way out
of the forest, and now adopted her last means of reaching the
fugitives in case they should not already have passed the river. As
soon as she emerged from the forest, she called up her dragon-drawn
car and mounted high in the air. She soon descried the lovers, with
interlaced arms, swimming easily as a couple of fish towards the
opposite bank.

[Illustration: THE GLASS HATCHET. P. 358.]

Swift as lightning she bore down with her dragon-car, and regardless
of all peril, she endeavoured to reach them, even though they were in
the river. But the hostile stream drew down the car into its
depths, and dashed her about with its waves until she hung upon the
bushes a prey to its finny inhabitants. Thus the lovers were finally
rescued. They hastened to the paternal castle, where the count
received them with transport. The following day their nuptials were
celebrated with great magnificence, and all the inhabitants far and
near rejoiced at the happy event.




THE GOLDEN DUCK.

[Bohemian.]


Deep in the bosom of a wood once stood a little cottage, inhabited by
a poor widow. Her name was Jutta, and she had formerly lived in easy
circumstances, but through various misfortunes, without any fault of
her own, she had fallen into poverty.

By the labour of her hands she with difficulty contrived to support
herself, her daughter Adelheid, and the two children of her departed
brother, Henry and Emma. The children, who were good and pious,
especially Henry and Emma, did their utmost to assist her by their
diligence: the girls spun, and the boy helped the old woman to
cultivate the garden, and tended the sheep, whose milk formed the
principal part of their daily sustenance.

One evening they were all sitting together in the little cottage,
whilst a tremendous storm raged without. The rain poured down in
torrents, and flash after flash of lightning followed the thunder,
which broke over the mountains, and seemed as if it would never cease.

The old woman had just sung to the children the song of the
water-sprite who danced with a young maiden till he drew her down into
the abyss, when suddenly they heard a tap at the door. The startled
children huddled close together, but the mother took courage and
opened it, when a soft female voice begged her to give shelter to a
traveller who had been overtaken in the forest by the storm.

The stranger was an elderly woman of a noble and dignified appearance,
but so kind and friendly in her manner that all were anxious to show
her some attention. Whilst the widow was regretting that her poverty
did not allow her to receive such a guest in a more worthy manner,
Henry lighted the fire, and Emma was anxious to kill her favourite
pigeons for her supper, but the lady would not permit this, and took
only a little milk.

The following morning, when Jutta and the children awoke, they were
not a little astonished at beholding, instead of the aged woman who
had entered the hut the night before, a youthful one of superhuman
beauty, arrayed in a magnificent dress which sparkled with diamonds.

"Know," said the stranger to the widow, "that you yesterday received
into your dwelling no mortal, but a fairy; I always try those mortals
whom I desire to benefit, and you have stood the trial. To little Emma
I am especially beholden, because she would yesterday have killed for
my supper what she most values, her pigeons. For this she shall be
gifted. Whenever she weeps, either for joy or sorrow, pearls instead
of tears shall drop from her eyes, and the hairs she combs from her
head shall turn into threads of pure gold. But beware that no ray of
sun ever shine upon her uncovered countenance, for then a great
misfortune will befall her; from henceforth never let her go into the
open air without being covered with a veil."

The beneficent fairy having thus spoken, vanished; but Jutta, who was
desirous to prove the truth of her words, hastily spread a large cloth
on the ground, placed the little maiden on it, and commenced combing
her long fair locks. Immediately the hairs that fell on the cloth
became threads of gold, and when the old woman told the child how rich
and grand she might now become, and what pretty toys she might buy,
she wept for joy, and the most beautiful pearls rolled from her eyes
upon the linen cloth.

The next day the old woman betook herself to the nearest town, sold
the pearls and the threads of gold, and bought a fine veil, without
which Emma was never suffered to leave the house. She often combed the
child's hair several times in the day, telling her all the time the
prettiest tales, which drew from her eyes abundance of tears, either
of pleasure or compassion, so that in a short time Jutta possessed a
considerable treasure in gold and pearls.

At first she sold her treasures to Jews, and received but little for
them, as they believed the goods were stolen. By and by, however, when
she had become possessed of a small landed estate in the district, she
traded with jewellers and goldsmiths, who paid her according to the
value of her goods, and so at length she collected a very considerable
treasure.

Meanwhile Adelheid and Emma grew into young women. But the increasing
wealth of the old woman, whom her neighbours had formerly known to be
in such straitened circumstances, and who knew not how she had
acquired her riches, gave occasion for envious tongues to utter many
an evil speech against her. Still further were their curiosity and
ill-nature excited by the singular circumstance that Emma always went
about veiled, and under these circumstances, what could be more
natural than that the greater part of them were ready to swear without
hesitation that old Jutta was a vile witch, and ought to be burned?

Now although these evil speeches were unable to do the widow any real
injury, still she was not a little vexed and annoyed when they reached
her ears, or when she perceived that she was looked upon with
suspicious and wondering looks; and finding it impossible by obliging
and friendly conduct, or even by conferring benefits, to win the
hearts of her neighbours, or to stop their calumnies, she preferred to
abandon altogether the place where she had been known in indifferent
circumstances, and to go far away, where her riches would not excite
suspicions against her. She therefore resolved to sell her estate, and
to take up her residence in the city of Prague. In order, however, not
to be too precipitate, she first sent thither her nephew, Henry, that
she might become a little acquainted with their future residence,
before removing from the former one.

So Henry went to the Bohemian capital, and, as he was a personable
youth, had good manners, and was richly provided with money by his
aunt, so that he could live in as good style as any of the nobles of
the land, he soon became on friendly terms with numerous counts and
other illustrious persons. Judging by his personal appearance and
expenditure they took him for one of their own station; nay, one of
them, a young count, became his confidential friend, and, as wine
often unlocks the secrets of the heart, it happened one day that Henry
let out the whole secret concerning his sister, quite forgetting at
the moment his aunt's strict prohibition ever to reveal it.

When the count heard so much of the extraordinary understanding, good
heart, sweetness, and beauty of the young maiden who was possessed of
such wonderful gifts, his heart at once glowed with love for her, and
he said with great warmth:--

"I myself possess a domain of such great value, that I am in no need
of the riches of another; but I have ever desired to have a wife
distinguished above all others for her beauty, virtue, and other rare
gifts; therefore I offer my hand to your sister, and I swear to you
that I will do all in my power that I may call so wonderful a maiden
my own."

Henry perceived his indiscretion now that it was too late, and he
could not withstand the earnest entreaties of his friend to obtain for
him the hand of his sister. In order, indeed, to lose no time, the
count immediately caused to be constructed an entirely closed and
well-covered carriage in which to transport Emma to him, without her
being exposed to a breath of air.

Surprising as was his proposal, it was so honourable a one, that,
after a few minutes' reflection, Emma could not think of refusing such
an illustrious and amiable young man as Henry described the count to
be. The brother, therefore, hastened back with the news of her
consent, and the count immediately went to his residence, in order to
make preparations for the reception of his bride, and for a
magnificent bridal entertainment.

During the interval, Emma, accompanied by her mother and Adelheid,
began her journey, and when they had proceeded about half-way, they
came to a great forest. The heat was oppressive, and Emma happened to
draw aside her veil, just as Jutta, in order to look after the
attendants whom the count had sent to escort his bride on the journey,
thoughtlessly opened the door of the carriage. No sooner did a sunbeam
shine on the maiden, than she was suddenly transformed into a golden
duck, flew out of the carriage, and vanished from the sight of her
terrified aunt.

[Illustration]

As soon as the old woman had recovered from her first alarm, she was
greatly troubled how to escape the wrath of the count. They had still
to traverse a considerable portion of the forest. So she sent the
servants who had not perceived the occurrence, under some pretext, to
a village at some distance, and during their absence she covered her
own daughter with Emma's veil. On their return they found the old
woman in the greatest distress; she wrung her hands, and related with
well simulated despair, that having gone with her daughter only a few
steps from the carriage, armed men had surprised them, and carried off
her Adelheid.

The count's servants, deceived by the despairing words and gestures of
the old woman, searched the forest, in hopes of tracing the robbers,
but as was to be expected, without success. Meanwhile Jutta instructed
her daughter in the part she was to play, in order that she in Emma's
place might become the count's wife. And as she feared she might not
be able to conceal the cheat from Henry, she desired the servants not
to go through Prague, but to take the direct road to the count's
castle.

When they arrived, Jutta descended alone from the carriage, carefully
closed it again, and besought the count, that until her niece had
entirely recovered from the fatigue of the journey, he would permit
them both to occupy a chamber from which all daylight could be
excluded, and she forbade at first any visit from the bridegroom.
Impatient as the latter was to see his bride, he yet submitted to this
delay which the old woman so earnestly requested of him. The most
splendid apartments were now thrown open to the mother and daughter,
and the most inner chamber of the suite was so hung with curtains that
no daylight could penetrate. In this room dwelt Jutta with her
daughter, and even Henry, who came to visit his supposed sister, was,
under pretext of her being indisposed, not allowed to enter. As his
aunt, however, provided him with plenty of money, and the merry life
in Prague pleased him better than the retirement of the country, he
soon returned thither.

The count, whom Jutta put off from day to day under various pretexts
from visiting his bride, at length lost patience, and would not be
longer withheld by the gold and pearls which Jutta continually brought
him; he forced his way into the chamber, and clasped Adelheid in his
arms.

Although the count could not but remark that Adelheid in no degree
corresponded to the description her brother had given of her, he was
still prepared to fulfil his word, and was therefore married, though
with the greatest privacy, to the false bride. Very shortly, he became
aware that neither her heart nor mind possessed the excellence that
had been represented to him; and in consequence of this discovery,
when he next met his brother-in-law, he overwhelmed him with
reproaches. The contemptuous expressions which the count used
respecting his bride, whom Henry had only known as the loveliest and
most amiable maiden in all Bohemia, so incensed Henry, that he forgot
all the consideration due to the rich and powerful man, and the count,
who, besides this, believed himself to have been deceived by Henry,
caused him to be seized, brought to his castle, and thrown into a deep
dungeon.

The wife of the count, who was also most severely punished for the
crime in which she had taken part, overwhelmed her mother with the
bitterest reproaches. More than once she was on the point of
confessing the fraud to her husband, but he drove her from him, and
would not listen to her.

Whilst these women were thus suffering for their crime, Henry sat in
his dungeon, hopeless of ever recovering his freedom, or of being able
to take vengeance on him who had so unjustly treated him; when one
day, as he lay in despair, a sweet voice reached him, which sang a
song he had often listened to when his sister Emma used to sing it in
former days.

The youth, who distinctly recognised his sister's voice, uttered her
name, and on looking upwards, he saw, by the light of the moon, a duck
fluttering before him, whose feathers were of gold, and whose neck was
adorned by a costly row of pearls.

Then said the golden duck to the astonished youth, "I am thy sister
Emma, who, transformed into a golden duck, fly about without a home."

She then related to her brother what had occurred during the journey,
and the deception her aunt had been guilty of. As she thus recounted
her unhappy fate, which constrained her to fly about unprotected, her
life exposed to the snares of the hunters, whilst her beloved brother
was languishing in prison, she wept abundantly; and the tears rolled
about the tower as costly pearls, and golden feathers fell from her,
and glittered on the dark ground.

The brother and sister pitied and tried to console each other. Henry
especially lamented his talkativeness, which had brought all this
misfortune upon them. At day-break the duck flew away, after promising
to visit her brother every night.

After this intercourse had lasted some time, one night she did not
make her appearance, which threw poor Henry into the greatest anxiety,
for he feared she might, for the sake of her precious feathers, have
been caught, or perhaps even killed. Then, for the first time, the
door of his prison was opened; the count's superintendent entered,
announced that he was free, and conducted him to the very same
apartments which he had occupied in happier days.

Before Henry could recover from his surprise, the count himself
entered, tenderly embraced him, and besought his forgiveness for all
the suffering that had been inflicted on him.

The warder of the tower, it appeared, had remarked the golden duck,
and heard with astonishment how she spoke with a human voice, and
conversed with the prisoner; all of which he had disclosed to the
count. The count thus discovered, by listening in secret to their
conversation, the fraud which had imposed the false bride upon him
instead of the true and beautiful one. Vain, however, were his efforts
the following night to get the golden duck into his power; she escaped
from all the attendants who endeavoured to catch her; and snares and
nets and all the artifices they practised, and all the pains they
took, were of no avail.

Then the count entreated the intercession of the brother. Since his
hard fate had robbed him of such an amiable wife, he besought her at
least in her present form to inhabit his castle. It was possible that
his grief, his love, might move the offended fairy to restore her to
her former shape.

Henry freely forgave the count, and promised to make his request known
to his sister the next time she should visit him. Before, however, the
duck's next visit, Adelheid expired, for the reproaches of her
husband, and her own grief and remorse, had brought her to the grave.
As soon as she was dead, the count banished Jutta to a remote place
and forbade her ever to appear in his presence again. With Henry he
lived on his former friendly terms.

Both lived in hopes of the reappearance of the golden duck. Long did
they wait in vain, and they began to fear that the endeavours of the
count to catch her had scared her from the place for ever, when one
afternoon, as Henry was sitting alone in the dining-hall, she flew in
at the window, and began gathering up the scattered crumbs on the
table. How great was the brother's joy! He addressed her by the
tenderest names, stroked her golden feathers, and inquired why she had
remained so long absent.

Then Emma complained of the efforts to catch her, which the count's
servants had made, and threatened never to return should such he
repeated. The entreaty which Henry made in the count's name that she
would dwell in the castle she decidedly rejected; and as she heard a
noise in the adjoining chamber, she hastily flew away.

For a long time the youth hesitated whether he should tell the count
of his sister's visit; as, however, he knew the strong affection of
his friend, and feared he might not refrain from fresh attempts
against the liberty of the golden duck, he resolved to say nothing
about it. But the count had seen the duck fly past, and when Henry
said nothing about it, he conceived mistrust of him, and laid a new
plan to get possession of her.

The following morning, when Emma flew into her brother's chamber, the
window was suddenly closed, the count having fastened a cord to it
from above, and in a few moments he entered the room thinking he had
now made sure of the much-desired prize. But the duck fluttered about,
and made her exit through the keyhole.

Henry was much distressed, for he feared that he should now see his
beloved sister no more, and heaped reproaches on the astonished count,
who returned them to him so liberally, that they separated in mutual
disgust, and Henry resolved to quit the city and wander through the
wide world.

One day after he had long travelled he found himself in a thick fir
wood, when suddenly a female form of great dignity stood before him,
in whom Henry at once recognised the fairy who had so richly gifted
his sister.

"Wherefore," said she, with a reproachful look, "didst thou leave the
castle at the time when thy sister's ill fortune, of which thou wert
the cause, was beginning to turn to good? Hasten back immediately,
confirm the count in the remorse for his profligate life which is now
awakening in him, and the golden duck will then be released from her
enchantment. And not only shall she retain the wonderful gifts she has
hitherto possessed, but thenceforth she shall no longer have to fear
air and sun-light."

The fairy disappeared, and Henry returned full of hope to the castle.
On his way thither he met several of the count's servants, who told
him their lord had sent them out with commands not to return until
they found him. For they added, since Henry's departure had left the
count so lonely and forsaken, he had fallen sick through sorrow and
longing after his friend.

When Henry entered the count's chamber, he found him lying on his bed
really ill and unhappy. He comforted him with the fairy's promise, and
the count solemnly vowed that he would never more return to his wild
and sinful mode of life.

Scarcely had he uttered this solemn vow, when the window flew open of
itself, the golden duck flew into the chamber, and, perching on the
bed-post, said, "The period of my trials is completed. I may now
return to my former figure and remain with you for ever."

Then the golden feathers dropped from her body; the long beak rounded
into mouth and chin, above which gazed a pair of lovely eyes; before
they could look round, a wondrously beautiful maiden stood before
them, magnificently habited, and her joy at being re-united to her
brother and her bridegroom drew the purest pearls from her eyes.

At the sight of her the count felt himself at once cured of his
illness, and, a few days after, the nuptial feast was celebrated with
all the pomp and magnificence befitting the high station and great
wealth of the count.




GOLDY.

[From Justinus Kerner.]


Many a long year ago there lived in a great forest a poor herdsman,
who had built himself a log cabin in the midst of it, where he dwelt
with his wife and his six children, all of whom were boys. There was a
draw-well by the house, and a little garden, and when their father was
looking after the cattle the children carried out to him a cool
draught from the well, or a dish of vegetables from the garden.

The youngest of the boys was called by his parents Goldy, for his
locks were like gold, and although the youngest he was stronger and
taller than all his brothers. When the children went out into the
fields, Goldy always went first with a branch of a tree in his hand,
and no otherwise would the other children go, for each feared lest
some adventure should befall him; but when Goldy led them they
followed cheerfully, one behind the other, through even the darkest
thicket, although the moon might have already risen over the
mountains.

One evening, on their return from their father, the children had
amused themselves by playing in the wood, and Goldy especially had so
heated himself in their games, that he was as rosy as the sky at
sun-set.

"Let us return," said the eldest, "it seems growing dark."

"See," said the second, "there is the moon!"

At that moment a light appeared through the dark fir-trees, and a
female form, shining like the moon, seated herself on the mossy stone,
and span, with a crystal distaff, a fine thread, nodding her head
towards Goldy, singing:--

    "The snow-white finch, the gold rose, for thee;
    The king's crown lies in the lap of the sea!"

She was about to continue her song when the thread broke, and she was
instantly extinguished like the flame of a candle. It being now quite
dark, terror seized the children, and they ran about crying piteously,
one here, and another there, over rock and pit, till they lost each
other.

Many a day and night did Goldy wander in the thick forest, but could
find neither his brothers nor his father's hut, nor yet the trace of a
human foot, for the forest had become more dense; one hill seemed to
rise above another, and pit after pit intercepted his path.

The blackberries, that grew in profusion, satisfied his hunger and
slaked his thirst, otherwise he must have perished miserably. At last,
on the third day--some say it was not until the sixth or seventh--the
forest became less and less dense, and at last he got out of it, and
found himself in a lovely green meadow.

Then his heart grew light, and he inhaled the pure fresh air.

Nets were spread over the meadow, for a bird-catcher lived there, who
caught the birds which flew out of the wood, and carried them into the
city for sale.

"That is just such a boy as I want," thought the bird-catcher, when he
saw Goldy, who stood in the meadow close to the net, gazing with
longing eyes into the blue sky; and then in jest he drew his net, and
imprisoned within it the astonished boy, who could not comprehend what
had befallen him. "That's the way we catch the birds that come out of
the wood," said the bird-catcher, laughing heartily. "Your red
feathers please me right well. So I have caught you, have I, my little
fox? You had better stay with me, and I will teach you how to catch
birds!"

Goldy was well content; he thought he should lead a merry life amongst
the birds, especially as he abandoned all hope of again finding his
father's hut.

"Let us see how much you have learnt," said the bird-catcher to him,
some days after. Goldy drew the net, and caught a snow-white
chaffinch.

"Confound you and this white chaffinch!" screamed the bird-catcher;
"you are in league with the evil one!" and he drove him roughly from
the meadow, at the same time treading under his feet, the white
chaffinch which Goldy had handed over to him.

Goldy could not conceive what the bird-catcher meant; he returned
sadly, but yet not despairingly, to the forest, with the intention of
renewing his endeavours to find his father's hut. Day and night he
wandered about, climbing over fragments of rock and old fallen trees,
and often stumbled and fell over the old black roots which protruded
in all directions from out of the ground.

On the third day, however, the forest once more became somewhat
clearer, and he issued from it into a beautiful bright garden, full of
the most delightful flowers, and as he had never before seen such he
stood gazing full of admiration. The gardener no sooner perceived
him--for Goldy stood beneath the sunflowers, and his locks glistened
in the sunshine just like one of them--than he exclaimed: "Ha! he is
just such a boy as I want!" and the garden-gate closed directly. Goldy
was very well satisfied, for he thought he should lead a gay life
amongst the flowers, and he had again lost the hope of getting back to
his father's cottage.

"Off with you to the forest!" said the gardener to him one morning,
"and fetch me the stem of a wild rose, that I may engraft cultivated
roses on it."

Goldy went and returned with a rose-bush bearing the most beautiful
golden-coloured roses imaginable, which looked exactly as if they were
the work of the most skilful of goldsmiths, and prepared to adorn a
monarch's table.

"Confound you, with these golden roses!" screamed the gardener; "you
are in league with the evil one!" and he drove Goldy roughly out of
the garden, as with plenty of abuse he trampled the golden roses on
the ground.

Goldy knew not what the gardener could mean; but he went calmly back
into the forest, and again set himself to seek after his father's
cabin.

He walked on day and night, from tree to tree, from rock to rock. On
the third day, the forest again became clearer and clearer, and he
came to the shore of the blue sea. It lay before him without a
boundary; the sun mirrored itself in the crystal surface, which
glistened like liquid gold, and gay vessels with far-floating
streamers floated on the waves. Some fishermen sat in a pretty bark on
the shore, into which Goldy entered, and gazed with wonder out into
the bright distance.

"We stand in need of just such a boy," said the fisherman, and off
they pushed into the sea. Goldy was well pleased to go with them, for
he thought it must be a golden life there amongst the bright waves,
and he had quite lost all hope of again finding his father's hut.

The fishermen cast their nets, but took nothing.

"Let us see if you will have better luck," said an old fisherman with
silver hair, addressing Goldy. With unskilful hands he let down the
net into the deep, drew it up, and lo! he brought up in it--a crown of
pure gold.

"Triumph!" cried the ancient fisherman, at the same time throwing
himself at Goldy's feet. "I hail thee as our king! A hundred years
ago, the last of our kings, having no heir, when he was about to die,
cast his crown into the sea, and until the fortunate being destined by
fate, should again draw up the crown from the deep, the throne,
without an occupant, was to remain wrapt in gloom."

"Hail to our king!" cried all the fishermen, and they placed the crown
on the boy's head. The tidings of Goldy and of the regained crown,
resounded from vessel to vessel, and across the sea far into the land.
The golden surface was soon crowded with gay barks and ships, adorned
with festoons of flowers and branches; they all saluted with loud
acclamations of joy the vessel in which was the Boy-king. He stood
with the bright crown upon his head, at the prow of the vessel, and
gazed calmly on the sun as it sank into the sea, whilst his golden
locks waved in the refreshing evening breeze.




THE SERPENT PRINCE.

[Italian.]


There lived once a peasant's wife who would have given all she
possessed to have a child, but yet she never had one.

One day her husband brought home a bundle of twigs from the wood, out
of which crept a pretty little young serpent. When Sabatella, that was
the peasant woman's name, saw the little serpent, she sighed deeply
and said: "Even serpents have their offspring; I alone am so
unfortunate as to remain childless!"

"Since you are childless," replied the little serpent, "take me in
lieu of a child; you shall have no cause to repent, and I will love
you more than a son."

When Sabatella heard the serpent speak, she was at first ready to go
out of her wits from fright; but at length taking courage said: "If it
be only for your kind words, I will love you as well as if you were my
own child."

So saying, she showed the serpent a cupboard in the house for his bed,
and she gave him a share, daily, of all she had to eat, and so the
serpent grew; and when he was quite grown up, he said to the peasant,
Cola Mattheo by name, whom he considered in the light of a father:
"Dear Papa, I wish to marry."

"I am willing," said Mattheo; "we will look about for a serpent like
yourself, and conclude the alliance at once."

"Why so," replied the serpent; "we shall then only become connected
with vipers, and similar vermin. I greatly prefer to marry the king's
daughter; so pray go forthwith, solicit the king for her, and say that
a serpent wishes to have her for his wife."

Cola Mattheo, who was a simple-minded man, went without further delay
to the king, and said: "The persons of messengers are always held
sacred. Know, therefore, that a serpent desires to have your daughter
for his wife; and I am come hither in my capacity of gardener to see
whether I can graft a dove upon a serpent."

The king, perceiving that he was somewhat of a booby, in order to get
rid of him, said: "Go home, and tell this serpent that if he can turn
all the fruit in this garden into gold, I will give him my daughter in
marriage," and laughing heartily, he dismissed the peasant.

When Cola Mattheo reported the king's answer, the serpent replied: "Go
early in the morning and collect all the fruit kernels you can find
throughout the city, and sow them in the royal garden; then you shall
behold a wonder."

Cola Mattheo, who was a great simpleton, said nothing, but as soon as
the sun with his golden besom had swept away the shades of night, he
took his basket under his arm, went from street to street, carefully
picking up every seed and kernel of peach, pomegranate, apricot,
cherry, and all other fruits he could find. Then he sowed them in the
royal garden as the serpent had desired him,--which he had no sooner
done than he perceived the stems of the trees, together with their
leaves, flowers, and fruit, all turn into shining gold; and the king,
when he saw it, went almost out of his senses, and could not tell what
to make of the affair.

But when Cola Mattheo was sent by the serpent to request the king to
perform his promise, the king replied: "Not so fast! For if the
serpent really desires to have my daughter in marriage, he must do
something more; and, in fact, I should like him to change the walls
and the paths in my garden into precious stones."

On this new demand being reported to the serpent, he said: "Go early
in the morning and collect all the potsherds you can find on the
ground; strew them in the paths and on the walls of the garden; then
we shall soon make the king perform his promise."

And when the night had passed away, Cola Mattheo took a great basket
and collected all the bits of broken pots, pans, jugs, cups and
saucers, and all similar rubbish; and when he had done with them as
the serpent desired him, the garden was suddenly covered with
emeralds, rubies, chalcedonies, and carbuncles, so that its brilliancy
dazzled all eyes, and astonished all hearts. The king was almost
petrified at this spectacle, and knew not what had befallen him.

When, however, the serpent caused him to be again reminded of his
promise, he answered: "All this is nothing yet. I must have this
palace quite filled with gold."

When Cola brought this further put-off from the king, the serpent only
said: "Go and take a bunch of green herbs, and sweep the floors of the
palace with it; then we shall see what will happen."

Mattheo directly made a great bunch of purslain, marjoram, rue, and
chervil, with which he swept the floors of the palace, and immediately
the rooms were filled with gold in such quantities, that poverty must
have fled at least a hundred houses off.

Now when the peasant went once more in the name of the serpent to
demand the princess, the king found himself constrained at last to
keep his promise. He called his daughter, and said: "My beloved
Grannonia, in order to make sport of an individual who requested you
in marriage, I required things of him which seemed impossible. As,
however, I now find myself obliged to fulfil my promise--I entreat
you, my dutiful daughter, not to bring my word to disgrace, but that
you will resign yourself to what Heaven wills, and I am constrained to
do."

"Do as you please, my lord and father," answered Grannonia, "for I
will not depart one hair's breadth from what you desire."

On hearing this the king desired Cola Mattheo to conduct the serpent
to his presence; who accordingly repaired to court in a carriage made
entirely of gold, drawn by four elephants, also of gold. As they
passed along, however, everybody fled before them, from terror at
seeing such a dreadfully large serpent.

When the serpent reached the palace, the courtiers shuddered and
trembled; even the very scullions ran away, and the king and queen
shut themselves up in a remote chamber. Grannonia alone retained her
self-possession; and although her royal parents called to her, saying:
"Fly, fly, Grannonia!" she stirred not from the spot, and merely said:
"I will not flee from the husband whom you have given me."

[Illustration]

No sooner had the serpent entered the apartment, than he encircled
Grannonia with his tail, kissed her, then drew her into another
chamber, locked the door, and stripping off his skin, was transformed
into a remarkably handsome young man, with golden locks and bright
eyes, who immediately embraced Grannonia with the utmost tenderness,
and paid her the most flattering attentions.

The king, on seeing the serpent lock himself into another room with
the princess, said to his wife: "Heaven have pity on our poor
daughter; for, unquestionably, all is over with her. This confounded
serpent has, no doubt, by this time swallowed her up like the yolk of
an egg." And they peeped through the keyhole to see what had happened.

But when they beheld the surprising elegance and beauty of the young
man, and perceived the serpent skin, which had been thrown down on the
ground, they burst open the door, rushed in, and seizing the skin,
threw it into the fire, where it was instantly consumed. Whereupon the
young man exclaimed: "Ah! you wretched people, what have you done to
me!" and changing himself into a pigeon, he flew with such force
against the window glass, that it broke, and he flew through, although
very much injured.

Grannonia, who in one and the same moment beheld herself thus
rejoicing and grieving, happy and unhappy, rich and poor, complained
bitterly at this destruction of her happiness, this poisoning of her
joy, this sad change of her fortune, all of which she laid to the
charge of her parents, although these assured her they had not
intended to do wrong. She, however, ceased not to bemoan herself until
night drew in, and as soon as all the inmates of the palace were in
their beds, she collected all her jewels, and went out at a back door,
determined to search till she should again find her lost treasure.
When she got beyond the city, guided by the moonshine, she met a fox,
who offered to be her companion; to which Grannonia replied: "You are
heartily welcome to me, neighbour, for I do not know the district very
well."

They went on together a considerable way, and reached a forest, where
the tops of the lofty trees met on high, and formed an agreeable
canopy over their heads. As they were weary with walking, and wished
to repose, they went under the thick leafy roof, where a rivulet
sported with the fresh grass, sprinkling it with its clear drops.

They lay down on the mossy carpet, paid the debt of sleep to nature
for the wear and tear of life, and did not wake until the sun with his
wonted fire gave notice that men might resume their avocations; but
after they had risen, they stood awhile listening to the song of the
little birds, as Grannonia took infinite pleasure in hearing their
twittering.

When the fox perceived this, he said: "If you understood, as I do,
what they say, your pleasure would be infinitely greater."

Excited by his words--for curiosity as well as love of gossip is a
natural gift in all women--Grannonia begged the fox to tell her what
he had learned from the birds.

The fox allowed her to urge him for a considerable time, in order to
awaken still greater curiosity for what he was going to relate; but at
length he told her that the birds were conversing about a misfortune
which had befallen the son of a king, who, having given offence to a
wicked enchantress, had been doomed by her to remain for seven long
years in the form of a serpent. The period of his enchantment arriving
at its close, he had fallen in love with the daughter of a king, and
having, on finding himself in a room alone with her, stripped off his
serpent's skin, her parents had broken in upon them and had burnt the
skin; whereupon the prince, by flying through a window in the form of
a pigeon, had so severely injured himself, that the surgeons had no
hope of his recovery.

Grannonia, on hearing the history of her beloved prince, immediately
inquired whose son the prince might be, and if there were any means by
which his cure could be effected. The fox replied, that those birds
had said that he was the son of the King of Ballone-Grosso, and that
no other means existed of stopping up the holes in his head, so that
his reason should not evaporate through them, but to anoint the wounds
with the blood of those very birds who had narrated the circumstance.

On hearing these words, Grannonia besought the fox to be so very kind
as to catch the birds for her, that she might get their blood, and
promised to share with him the profit she would make by curing the
prince.

"Softly to work," said the fox; "let us wait till night, and when the
birds are gone to roost, I will climb the tree and strangle them one
after the other."

So he passed the day talking alternately of the beauty of the king's
son, of the father of the princess, and of the misfortune that had
befallen her, till at length night came on. When the fox saw all the
little birds asleep on the branches, he climbed very quietly and
cautiously up, and caught all the chaffinches, goldfinches, and
fly-catchers that were on the tree, killed them, and put their blood
in a little flask he carried with him, in order to refresh himself on
the road.

Grannonia was expressing her delight at this success, when the fox
said to her: "My dear daughter, your joy is all in vain; for you have
gained nothing at all, unless besides the blood of the birds you also
possess mine, which I certainly do not mean to give you;" and so
saying, off he ran.

Grannonia, who saw that all her hopes were about to be annihilated, in
order to obtain her desires, had recourse to cunning and flattery; so
she cried out to him: "Dear daddy fox, you would be quite in the right
to take care of your skin, if I were not so much indebted to you, and
if there were no more foxes in the world. But since you know how much
I have to thank you for, and that in these fields there is no lack of
creatures of your kind, you may rely without uneasiness on me, and
therefore do not act like the cow who kicks down the pail after she
has filled it with her milk. Stand still, do not leave me, but
accompany me to this king's city, in order that he may hire me of you
for a servant."

The fox into whose head it never entered that a fox could ever be
duped, found himself, however, deceived by a woman; for he had
scarcely given his assent to accompanying Grannonia, and had not gone
fifty paces with her, before she ungratefully knocked him down with
the stick she carried, killed him, and poured his blood into the
flask.

She then ran off as fast as she could, until she reached
Ballone-Grosso. There she went straight to the royal palace, and
caused the king to be informed she was come to cure the prince's
wounds.

The king had her immediately brought into his presence, greatly
surprised that a young maiden should promise to do that which the most
skilful surgeons in his kingdom acknowledged themselves incompetent to
effect. But as there would be no harm in trying, he gave her
permission to make the experiment.

Grannonia, however, said: "If I fulfil your wishes, you must promise
to give me your son for my husband." The king, who had lost all hope
of seeing his son restored, replied: "Only restore him to health and
spirits, and you shall have him just as you make him. For it is not
too much for me to give a husband to one who gives me a son."

So they went into the prince's room, and no sooner had Grannonia
anointed him with the blood than he was entirely cured. Now when
Grannonia saw him well and cheerful, she said to the king that he must
keep his word; whereupon the latter turned to his son, and spoke thus:
"My dear son, but lately I looked upon you as dead, and now, when I
least expected, I see you again living and well; and since I promised
this young maiden in case she restored you, that you should become her
husband, and as heaven has been so gracious to me, enable me, if you
have any regard for me, to fulfil my promise, for gratitude constrains
me to recompense this service."

The prince replied: "My lord and father, I wish my will were as free
as my love for you is great. But since I have already given my word to
another woman, you would not wish that I should break my promise; and
this young maiden herself will not counsel me to act so faithlessly to
her whom I love, therefore I must remain true to my choice."

When Grannonia heard these words, and perceived that the prince
retained the memory of her so vividly in his heart, she felt
unspeakable joy, and said, whilst she blushed to crimson: "But if I
persuade the maiden whom you love, to renounce her claim on you,
would you then comply with my wish?"

"Far be it from me," replied the prince, "that I should ever efface
the fair image of my beloved from my breast. Whatever she may do, my
desire and my sentiments will remain unaltered; and were I to risk my
life for it, still I never would consent to the change."

Grannonia, who could no longer conceal her feelings, now made herself
known; for the darkness of the chamber, where all the curtains were
drawn on account of the prince's illness, and her own disguise, had
entirely prevented him from recognising her. The moment he perceived
who she was, he embraced her with indescribable joy, and then related
to his father who she was, and what she had done for him.

Then they sent for the parents of the princess, and the marriage
festival was celebrated with great rejoicings, so that it was again
made manifest that for the joys of love, sorrow is ever the best
seasoning.




THE PROPHETIC DREAM.

[Oral]


In a little obscure village, there once dwelt a poor shepherd, who,
for many years, supported himself and his family upon the very
trifling wages he earned by his labour. Besides his wife he had one
only child, a boy. He had accustomed this boy, from a very early age,
to go out with him to the pastures, and had instructed him in the
duties of a faithful shepherd, so that as the child grew up he could
entrust the flocks to his care, whilst he himself could earn a few
pence by basket weaving. The young shepherd gaily led his flocks over
the fields and pastures, whistling or singing some cheerful song, or
cracking his whip, that the time should not pass heavily with him. At
noon he lay down at his ease by his flock, ate his bread, and quenched
his thirst at the rivulet, and then slept for a short time before he
drove it further.

One day when he had lain down under a shady tree for his noontide
rest, the young shepherd slept and had a remarkable dream. He was
journeying on, far, far on--he heard a loud clinking sound, like to a
heap of coins incessantly falling on the ground--a thundering noise
like the report of incessant firing--he saw a countless band of
soldiers, with glittering armour and weapons--all these sights and
sounds encircled him and resounded about him. Then he seemed to wander
on, constantly ascending a mountain until he arrived at the summit,
where a throne was erected on which he seated himself, leaving beside
him a vacant place, which a beautiful woman who suddenly appeared,
immediately occupied. The young shepherd still dreaming, rose up,
saying in a solemn and earnest voice: "I am King of Spain;" and at
that moment he awoke.

Pondering on his strange dream, the youth led on his flock, and in the
evening, whilst he assisted his parents in their work as they sat
before their cottage door cutting fodder, he related it to them, and
concluded by saying: "Verily, if I dream that again, I will be off to
Spain to see whether I shall be made king."

"Foolish boy," murmured the old father; "thou be made king? Don't go
and make yourself a laughingstock."

His mother laughed outright, rubbing her hands, and repeating in
amaze, "King of Spain! king of Spain!"

The next day at noon he lay down again under the same tree, and oh,
wonder! the same dream took possession of his senses. He hardly had
patience to watch his flock till evening; gladly would he have run
home, and at once set out on his journey to Spain. When at length his
work was done, he again related his romantic dream, saying: "If I do
but dream this once again, I will go off directly, on the very same
day."

The third day he lay down again under the same tree, and the same
dream again visited him for the third time. The youth raised himself
up in his sleep, exclaiming: "I am King of Spain," and thereupon he
awoke. He gathered up his hat, his whip, and his provision bag,
collected his sheep, and went back straight to the village. When he
got there the people began to chide him for returning so long before
vespers; but the youth was so excited that he paid no heed to the
reproofs either of the neighbours or of his parents, but packed up his
Sunday clothes, hung the bundle on a hazel stick, and throwing it
over his shoulder started off without another word. He put his best
foot foremost, and ran so fast that one would have thought he hoped to
reach Spain that same night.

He got no further however that day than to the borders of a forest,
and not a village nor even a solitary cottage could he descry; so he
resolved to take his night's rest in a thick bush. He had scarcely
fallen asleep when he was disturbed by a great noise. A company of
men, conversing loudly, passed before the bush which he had made his
bed. The youth crept softly forward, and followed the men at a little
distance, saying to himself: "Perhaps thou mayest still find a
lodging; where these men pass the night, thou surely mayest also
sleep." They had not gone much further before they came to a house of
considerable dimensions, which, however, was situated in the centre of
the dark forest. The men knocked, and were admitted, and the young
shepherd unperceived slipped in with them into the house. Another door
was then thrown open, and they all entered a large and very
imperfectly lighted room, on the floor of which lay numerous trusses
of straw, beds and coverlids, which seemed ready prepared for the
men's night repose. The shepherd boy crept quickly under a heap of
straw, which was scattered near the door, and lay in his concealment
on the look-out for all he might see and hear. As he was a very sharp
boy, with all his senses about him, it was not long before he made out
that he was amongst a band of robbers, whose captain was the owner of
the house. This latter, as soon as the newly arrived members of the
band had stretched themselves on their couches, ascended an elevated
seat, and said in a deep bass voice: "My brave comrades, give me an
account of your day's work; where you have been, and what booty you
have got!"

A tall man, with a coal black beard, was the first to raise himself
from his bed, and answered: "My good captain, early this morning I
robbed a rich nobleman of his leathern breeches; these have two
pockets, and as often as they are turned inside out, and well shaken,
a heap of ducats falls on the ground."

"That sounds well, indeed!" said the captain.

Then uprose another, and said: "I stole from a great general his
three-cornered hat; and this hat has the property, that so long as it
is turned round upon the head shots are fired off incessantly from its
three corners."

"That's worth hearing," replied the captain; upon which a third man
sat up, saying: "I have deprived a knight of his sword, and when you
stick the point of this sword into the earth, up starts at that very
moment a regiment of soldiers."

"A brave deed," exclaimed the captain; as the fourth robber then
began: "I drew off the boots of a traveller whilst he slept, and
whoever puts on those boots goes seven miles at every step."

"I commend a bold deed," said the captain, highly pleased; "hang up
your prizes against the wall, and now eat and drink heartily, and
sleep well." So saying, he left the sleeping apartment of the robbers,
who caroused lustily, and then slept soundly. When all was still and
the men in deep sleep, the young shepherd stole from his hiding-place,
put on the leathern breeches, set the hat upon his head, girded on the
sword, drew on the boots, and slipped softly out of the house. As soon
as he was outside the door, the boots, to his infinite delight, at
once manifested their magic virtue, and it was not long before the
youth entered the great capital of Spain; it is called Madrid.

He asked the very first person he met to direct him to the most
considerable hotel in the city; but received for answer, "You little
urchin, get off with you to some place where such as yourself lodge,
and not to where great lords dine." A shining gold piece, however,
soon made his adviser a little more courteous, so that now he
willingly conducted the youth to the best hotel. Arrived there, he at
once engaged the best apartments, and said to his host: "Well, how
goes it in your city? What is the latest news here?"

The host made a long face, and replied: "My little gentleman, you must
be indeed quite a stranger here. It seems that you have not yet heard
that his majesty, our king, is on the eve of departing for the wars
with an army of twenty thousand men. You must know we have enemies,
powerful enemies. Oh, these are, indeed, dreadful times! Is your
little worship disposed to join the army?"

"No doubt!" said the stripling, whose countenance beamed with joy.

No sooner had the host left him, than he quickly drew off his leather
breeches, shook out a heap of gold pieces, and purchased for himself
costly garments with arms and accoutrements, dressed himself in them,
and then craved an audience of the king. As he entered the palace,
and was being conducted by two chamberlains through a spacious and
magnificent hall, he was met by a young and wondrously beautiful lady,
who graciously saluted him, and whom he beheld surrounded by
courtiers, who bowed to her as he passed, whilst they whispered to
him, "That is the princess--the king's daughter."

The young shepherd was not a little enraptured by the beauty of the
princess; and he was so inspired by his admiration and delight, that
he was able to speak boldly and confidently to the monarch.

"I come," said he, "most humbly to offer to your majesty my services
as a warrior. The army I bring to you shall gain the victory for you;
and it shall win for your majesty whatever you may be pleased to
desire. But I ask of you one recompense, namely, that if I gain the
victory for you, I may receive your lovely daughter in marriage. Will
you grant me this, my most gracious king?"

The king was astonished at the youth's bold address, and answered: "Be
it so--I agree to your request. If you return home a conqueror, you
shall be my successor, and I will give you my daughter in marriage."

The _ci-devant_ shepherd now betook himself all alone to the open
plain, and began to strike his sword here and there in the ground, and
in a few minutes there stood on the plain many thousand well-armed
combatants, and the youth himself, richly armed and adorned, sat as
their leader on a noble horse decked with gold embroidered housings
and a lustrous bridle. The young general led his troops against the
foe, and a bloody battle was fought. Unceasing death-shots thundered
from the commander's hat, and his sword called up one regiment after
another from the ground, so that in a few hours the enemy was
vanquished and scattered, and the flag of victory waved above the
conquered camp. The victor pursued and conquered from his foe a
considerable portion of his country. Victorious, and crowned with
glory, he returned to Spain, where his greatest good fortune still
awaited him. The fair daughter of the king had been no less struck by
the handsome youth whom she met in the hall, than he had been by her;
and the most gracious monarch knew how to value duly the great service
rendered to him by the brave young man. He kept his word--gave him his
daughter in marriage, and made him heir to his throne.

[Illustration: THE PROPHETIC DREAM. P. 406.]

The nuptials were celebrated with the greatest magnificence, and he
who had so shortly before been only a shepherd youth sat now in high
estate. Soon after the wedding the old king resigned his crown and
sceptre into the hands of his son-in-law, who, seated proudly on the
throne, with his beautiful consort beside him, received the oath of
allegiance from his people.

Then he thought of his so quickly-fulfilled dream and of his poor
parents, and when he was alone with his wife, he thus addressed her:
"My beloved, know that I have parents living still, but they are very
poor; my father is a village herdsman, dwelling far away in Germany,
where I myself, as a boy, looked after cattle, until a marvellous
dream revealed to me that I should become king of Spain. Fortune has
been favourable to me; I am now a king, but I would willingly see my
parents also prosperous, therefore with your kind consent I will
return to my former home, and bring my parents hither."

The young queen was well content that her husband should do as he
proposed, so he set off and travelled of course very fast, being
possessed of the seven-mile boots. On his way the young monarch
restored the magical articles which he had taken from the robbers to
their rightful owners, retaining only the boots; he carried back with
him his parents, who were almost beside themselves for joy, and to the
former owner of the boots he gave a dukedom in exchange for them.
After that he lived happily and worthily all the rest of his days.

THE END.

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