The
Red Fairy Book

Edited by
Andrew Lang


TO
MASTER BILLY TREMAYNE MILES
A PROFOUND STUDENT
YET
AN AMIABLE CRITIC


Contents

 PREFACE
 THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES
 THE PRINCESS MAYBLOSSOM
 SORIA MORIA CASTLE
 THE DEATH OF KOSHCHEI THE DEATHLESS
 THE BLACK THIEF AND KNIGHT OF THE GLEN.
 THE MASTER THIEF
 BROTHER AND SISTER
 PRINCESS ROSETTE
 THE ENCHANTED PIG
 THE NORKA
 THE WONDERFUL BIRCH
 JACK AND THE BEANSTALK
 THE LITTLE GOOD MOUSE
 GRACIOSA AND PERCINET
 THE THREE PRINCESSES OF WHITELAND
 THE VOICE OF DEATH
 THE SIX SILLIES
 KARI WOODENGOWN
 DRAKESTAIL
 THE RATCATCHER
 THE TRUE HISTORY OF LITTLE GOLDENHOOD
 THE GOLDEN BRANCH
 THE THREE DWARFS
 DAPPLEGRIM
 THE ENCHANTED CANARY
 THE TWELVE BROTHERS
 RAPUNZEL
 THE NETTLE SPINNER
 FARMER WEATHERBEARD
 MOTHER HOLLE
 MINNIKIN
 BUSHY BRIDE
 SNOWDROP
 THE GOLDEN GOOSE
 THE SEVEN FOALS
 THE MARVELLOUS MUSICIAN
 THE STORY OF SIGURD




PREFACE


In a second gleaning of the fields of Fairy Land we cannot expect to
find a second Perrault. But there are good stories enough left, and it
is hoped that some in the Red Fairy Book may have the attraction of
being less familiar than many of the old friends. The tales have been
translated, or, in the case of those from Madame d’Aulnoy’s long
stories, adapted, by Mrs. Hunt from the Norse, by Miss Minnie Wright
from Madame d’Aulnoy, by Mrs. Lang and Miss Bruce from other French
sources, by Miss May Sellar, Miss Farquharson, and Miss Blackley from
the German, while the story of ‘Sigurd’ is condensed by the Editor from
Mr. William Morris’s prose version of the ‘Volsunga Saga.’ The Editor
has to thank his friend, M. Charles Marelles, for permission to
reproduce his versions of the ‘Pied Piper,’ of ‘Drakestail,’ and of
‘Little Golden Hood’ from the French, and M. Henri Carnoy for the same
privilege in regard to ‘The Six Sillies’ from _La Tradition_.

Lady Frances Balfour has kindly copied an old version of ‘Jack and the
Beanstalk,’ and Messrs. Smith and Elder have permitted the publication
of two of Mr. Ralston’s versions from the Russian.

A. L.




THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES


I

Once upon a time there lived in the village of Montignies-sur-Roc a
little cow-boy, without either father or mother. His real name was
Michael, but he was always called the Star Gazer, because when he drove
his cows over the commons to seek for pasture, he went along with his
head in the air, gaping at nothing.

As he had a white skin, blue eyes, and hair that curled all over his
head, the village girls used to cry after him, ‘Well, Star Gazer, what
are you doing?’ and Michael would answer, ‘Oh, nothing,’ and go on his
way without even turning to look at them.

The fact was he thought them very ugly, with their sun-burnt necks,
their great red hands, their coarse petticoats and their wooden shoes.
He had heard that somewhere in the world there were girls whose necks
were white and whose hands were small, who were always dressed in the
finest silks and laces, and were called princesses, and while his
companions round the fire saw nothing in the flames but common everyday
fancies, he dreamed that he had the happiness to marry a princess.

II

One morning about the middle of August, just at mid-day when the sun
was hottest, Michael ate his dinner of a piece of dry bread, and went
to sleep under an oak. And while he slept he dreamt that there appeared
before him a beautiful lady, dressed in a robe of cloth of gold, who
said to him: ‘Go to the castle of Beloeil, and there you shall marry a
princess.’

That evening the little cow-boy, who had been thinking a great deal
about the advice of the lady in the golden dress, told his dream to the
farm people. But, as was natural, they only laughed at the Star Gazer.

The next day at the same hour he went to sleep again under the same
tree. The lady appeared to him a second time, and said: ‘Go to the
castle of Beloeil, and you shall marry a princess.’

In the evening Michael told his friends that he had dreamed the same
dream again, but they only laughed at him more than before. ‘Never
mind,’ he thought to himself; ‘if the lady appears to me a third time,
I will do as she tells me.’

The following day, to the great astonishment of all the village, about
two o’clock in the afternoon a voice was heard singing:

‘Raleô, raleô,
How the cattle go!’


It was the little cow-boy driving his herd back to the byre.

The farmer began to scold him furiously, but he answered quietly, ‘I am
going away,’ made his clothes into a bundle, said good-bye to all his
friends, and boldly set out to seek his fortunes.

There was great excitement through all the village, and on the top of
the hill the people stood holding their sides with laughing, as they
watched the Star Gazer trudging bravely along the valley with his
bundle at the end of his stick.

It was enough to make anyone laugh, certainly.

III

It was well known for full twenty miles round that there lived in the
castle of Beloeil twelve princesses of wonderful beauty, and as proud
as they were beautiful, and who were besides so very sensitive and of
such truly royal blood, that they would have felt at once the presence
of a pea in their beds, even if the mattresses had been laid over it.

It was whispered about that they led exactly the lives that princesses
ought to lead, sleeping far into the morning, and never getting up till
mid-day. They had twelve beds all in the same room, but what was very
extraordinary was the fact that though they were locked in by triple
bolts, every morning their satin shoes were found worn into holes.

When they were asked what they had been doing all night, they always
answered that they had been asleep; and, indeed, no noise was ever
heard in the room, yet the shoes could not wear themselves out alone!

At last the Duke of Beloeil ordered the trumpet to be sounded, and a
proclamation to be made that whoever could discover how his daughters
wore out their shoes should choose one of them for his wife.

On hearing the proclamation a number of princes arrived at the castle
to try their luck. They watched all night behind the open door of the
princesses, but when the morning came they had all disappeared, and no
one could tell what had become of them.

IV

When he reached the castle, Michael went straight to the gardener and
offered his services. Now it happened that the garden boy had just been
sent away, and though the Star Gazer did not look very sturdy, the
gardener agreed to take him, as he thought that his pretty face and
golden curls would please the princesses.

The first thing he was told was that when the princesses got up he was
to present each one with a bouquet, and Michael thought that if he had
nothing more unpleasant to do than that he should get on very well.

Accordingly he placed himself behind the door of the princesses’ room,
with the twelve bouquets in a basket. He gave one to each of the
sisters, and they took them without even deigning to look at the lad,
except Lina the youngest, who fixed her large black eyes as soft as
velvet on him, and exclaimed, ‘Oh, how pretty he is—our new flower
boy!’ The rest all burst out laughing, and the eldest pointed out that
a princess ought never to lower herself by looking at a garden boy.

Now Michael knew quite well what had happened to all the princes, but
notwithstanding, the beautiful eyes of the Princess Lina inspired him
with a violent longing to try his fate. Unhappily he did not dare to
come forward, being afraid that he should only be jeered at, or even
turned away from the castle on account of his impudence.

V

Nevertheless, the Star Gazer had another dream. The lady in the golden
dress appeared to him once more, holding in one hand two young laurel
trees, a cherry laurel and a rose laurel, and in the other hand a
little golden rake, a little golden bucket, and a silken towel. She
thus addressed him:

‘Plant these two laurels in two large pots, rake them over with the
rake, water them with the bucket, and wipe them with the towel. When
they have grown as tall as a girl of fifteen, say to each of them, ‘’My
beautiful laurel, with the golden rake I have raked you, with the
golden bucket I have watered you, with the silken towel I have wiped
you.‘’ Then after that ask anything you choose, and the laurels will
give it to you.’

Michael thanked the lady in the golden dress, and when he woke he found
the two laurel bushes beside him. So he carefully obeyed the orders he
had been given by the lady.

The trees grew very fast, and when they were as tall as a girl of
fifteen he said to the cherry laurel, ‘My lovely cherry laurel, with
the golden rake I have raked thee, with the golden bucket I have
watered thee, with the silken towel I have wiped thee. Teach me how to
become invisible.’ Then there instantly appeared on the laurel a pretty
white flower, which Michael gathered and stuck into his button-hole.

VI

That evening, when the princesses went upstairs to bed, he followed
them barefoot, so that he might make no noise, and hid himself under
one of the twelve beds, so as not to take up much room.

The princesses began at once to open their wardrobes and boxes. They
took out of them the most magnificent dresses, which they put on before
their mirrors, and when they had finished, turned themselves all round
to admire their appearances.

Michael could see nothing from his hiding-place, but he could hear
everything, and he listened to the princesses laughing and jumping with
pleasure. At last the eldest said, ‘Be quick, my sisters, our partners
will be impatient.’ At the end of an hour, when the Star Gazer heard no
more noise, he peeped out and saw the twelve sisters in splendid
garments, with their satin shoes on their feet, and in their hands the
bouquets he had brought them.

‘Are you ready?’ asked the eldest.

‘Yes,’ replied the other eleven in chorus, and they took their places
one by one behind her.

Then the eldest Princess clapped her hands three times and a trap door
opened. All the princesses disappeared down a secret staircase, and
Michael hastily followed them.

As he was following on the steps of the Princess Lina, he carelessly
trod on her dress.

‘There is somebody behind me,’ cried the Princess; ‘they are holding my
dress.’

‘You foolish thing,’ said her eldest sister, ‘you are always afraid of
something. It is only a nail which caught you.’

VII

They went down, down, down, till at last they came to a passage with a
door at one end, which was only fastened with a latch. The eldest
Princess opened it, and they found themselves immediately in a lovely
little wood, where the leaves were spangled with drops of silver which
shone in the brilliant light of the moon.

They next crossed another wood where the leaves were sprinkled with
gold, and after that another still, where the leaves glittered with
diamonds.

At last the Star Gazer perceived a large lake, and on the shores of the
lake twelve little boats with awnings, in which were seated twelve
princes, who, grasping their oars, awaited the princesses.

Each princess entered one of the boats, and Michael slipped into that
which held the youngest. The boats glided along rapidly, but Lina’s,
from being heavier, was always behind the rest. ‘We never went so
slowly before,’ said the Princess; ‘what can be the reason?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered the Prince. ‘I assure you I am rowing as hard
as I can.’

On the other side of the lake the garden boy saw a beautiful castle
splendidly illuminated, whence came the lively music of fiddles,
kettle-drums, and trumpets.

In a moment they touched land, and the company jumped out of the boats;
and the princes, after having securely fastened their barques, gave
their arms to the princesses and conducted them to the castle.

VIII

Michael followed, and entered the ball-room in their train. Everywhere
were mirrors, lights, flowers, and damask hangings.

The Star Gazer was quite bewildered at the magnificence of the sight.

He placed himself out of the way in a corner, admiring the grace and
beauty of the princesses. Their loveliness was of every kind. Some were
fair and some were dark; some had chestnut hair, or curls darker still,
and some had golden locks. Never were so many beautiful princesses seen
together at one time, but the one whom the cow-boy thought the most
beautiful and the most fascinating was the little Princess with the
velvet eyes.

With what eagerness she danced! leaning on her partner’s shoulder she
swept by like a whirlwind. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, and
it was plain that she loved dancing better than anything else.

The poor boy envied those handsome young men with whom she danced so
gracefully, but he did not know how little reason he had to be jealous
of them.

The young men were really the princes who, to the number of fifty at
least, had tried to steal the princesses’ secret. The princesses had
made them drink something of a philtre, which froze the heart and left
nothing but the love of dancing.

IX

They danced on till the shoes of the princesses were worn into holes.
When the cock crowed the third time the fiddles stopped, and a
delicious supper was served by negro boys, consisting of sugared orange
flowers, crystallised rose leaves, powdered violets, cracknels, wafers,
and other dishes, which are, as everyone knows, the favourite food of
princesses.

After supper, the dancers all went back to their boats, and this time
the Star Gazer entered that of the eldest Princess. They crossed again
the wood with the diamond-spangled leaves, the wood with gold-sprinkled
leaves, and the wood whose leaves glittered with drops of silver, and
as a proof of what he had seen, the boy broke a small branch from a
tree in the last wood. Lina turned as she heard the noise made by the
breaking of the branch.

‘What was that noise?’ she said.

‘It was nothing,’ replied her eldest sister; ‘it was only the screech
of the barn-owl that roosts in one of the turrets of the castle.’

While she was speaking Michael managed to slip in front, and running up
the staircase, he reached the princesses’ room first. He flung open the
window, and sliding down the vine which climbed up the wall, found
himself in the garden just as the sun was beginning to rise, and it was
time for him to set to his work.

X

That day, when he made up the bouquets, Michael hid the branch with the
silver drops in the nosegay intended for the youngest Princess.

When Lina discovered it she was much surprised. However, she said
nothing to her sisters, but as she met the boy by accident while she
was walking under the shade of the elms, she suddenly stopped as if to
speak to him; then, altering her mind, went on her way.

The same evening the twelve sisters went again to the ball, and the
Star Gazer again followed them and crossed the lake in Lina’s boat.
This time it was the Prince who complained that the boat seemed very
heavy.

‘It is the heat,’ replied the Princess. ‘I, too, have been feeling very
warm.’

During the ball she looked everywhere for the gardener’s boy, but she
never saw him.

As they came back, Michael gathered a branch from the wood with the
gold-spangled leaves, and now it was the eldest Princess who heard the
noise that it made in breaking.

‘It is nothing,’ said Lina; ‘only the cry of the owl which roosts in
the turrets of the castle.’

XI

As soon as she got up she found the branch in her bouquet. When the
sisters went down she stayed a little behind and said to the cow-boy:
‘Where does this branch come from?’

‘Your Royal Highness knows well enough,’ answered Michael.

‘So you have followed us?’

‘Yes, Princess.’

‘How did you manage it? we never saw you.’

‘I hid myself,’ replied the Star Gazer quietly.

The Princess was silent a moment, and then said:

‘You know our secret!—keep it. Here is the reward of your discretion.’
And she flung the boy a purse of gold.

‘I do not sell my silence,’ answered Michael, and he went away without
picking up the purse.

For three nights Lina neither saw nor heard anything extraordinary; on
the fourth she heard a rustling among the diamond-spangled leaves of
the wood. That day there was a branch of the trees in her bouquet.

She took the Star Gazer aside, and said to him in a harsh voice:

‘You know what price my father has promised to pay for our secret?’

‘I know, Princess,’ answered Michael.

‘Don’t you mean to tell him?’

‘That is not my intention.’

‘Are you afraid?’

‘No, Princess.’

‘What makes you so discreet, then?’

But Michael was silent.

XII

Lina’s sisters had seen her talking to the little garden boy, and
jeered at her for it.

‘What prevents your marrying him?’ asked the eldest, ‘you would become
a gardener too; it is a charming profession. You could live in a
cottage at the end of the park, and help your husband to draw up water
from the well, and when we get up you could bring us our bouquets.’

The Princess Lina was very angry, and when the Star Gazer presented her
bouquet, she received it in a disdainful manner.

Michael behaved most respectfully. He never raised his eyes to her, but
nearly all day she felt him at her side without ever seeing him.

One day she made up her mind to tell everything to her eldest sister.

‘What!’ said she, ‘this rogue knows our secret, and you never told me!
I must lose no time in getting rid of him.’

‘But how?’

‘Why, by having him taken to the tower with the dungeons, of course.’

For this was the way that in old times beautiful princesses got rid of
people who knew too much.

But the astonishing part of it was that the youngest sister did not
seem at all to relish this method of stopping the mouth of the
gardener’s boy, who, after all, had said nothing to their father.

XIII

It was agreed that the question should be submitted to the other ten
sisters. All were on the side of the eldest. Then the youngest sister
declared that if they laid a finger on the little garden boy, she would
herself go and tell their father the secret of the holes in their
shoes.

At last it was decided that Michael should be put to the test; that
they would take him to the ball, and at the end of supper would give
him the philtre which was to enchant him like the rest.

They sent for the Star Gazer, and asked him how he had contrived to
learn their secret; but still he remained silent.

Then, in commanding tones, the eldest sister gave him the order they
had agreed upon.

He only answered:

‘I will obey.’

He had really been present, invisible, at the council of princesses,
and had heard all; but he had made up his mind to drink of the philtre,
and sacrifice himself to the happiness of her he loved.

Not wishing, however, to cut a poor figure at the ball by the side of
the other dancers, he went at once to the laurels, and said:

‘My lovely rose laurel, with the golden rake I have raked thee, with
the golden bucket I have watered thee, with a silken towel I have dried
thee. Dress me like a prince.’

A beautiful pink flower appeared. Michael gathered it, and found
himself in a moment clothed in velvet, which was as black as the eyes
of the little Princess, with a cap to match, a diamond aigrette, and a
blossom of the rose laurel in his button-hole.

Thus dressed, he presented himself that evening before the Duke of
Beloeil, and obtained leave to try and discover his daughters’ secret.
He looked so distinguished that hardly anyone would have known who he
was.

XIV

The twelve princesses went upstairs to bed. Michael followed them, and
waited behind the open door till they gave the signal for departure.

This time he did not cross in Lina’s boat. He gave his arm to the
eldest sister, danced with each in turn, and was so graceful that
everyone was delighted with him. At last the time came for him to dance
with the little Princess. She found him the best partner in the world,
but he did not dare to speak a single word to her.

When he was taking her back to her place she said to him in a mocking
voice:

‘Here you are at the summit of your wishes: you are being treated like
a prince.’

‘Don’t be afraid,’ replied the Star Gazer gently. ‘You shall never be a
gardener’s wife.’

The little Princess stared at him with a frightened face, and he left
her without waiting for an answer.

When the satin slippers were worn through the fiddles stopped, and the
negro boys set the table. Michael was placed next to the eldest sister,
and opposite to the youngest.

They gave him the most exquisite dishes to eat, and the most delicate
wines to drink; and in order to turn his head more completely,
compliments and flattery were heaped on him from every side.

But he took care not to be intoxicated, either by the wine or the
compliments.

XV

At last the eldest sister made a sign, and one of the black pages
brought in a large golden cup.

‘The enchanted castle has no more secrets for you,’ she said to the
Star Gazer. ‘Let us drink to your triumph.’

He cast a lingering glance at the little Princess, and without
hesitation lifted the cup.

‘Don’t drink!’ suddenly cried out the little Princess; ‘I would rather
marry a gardener.’

And she burst into tears.

Michael flung the contents of the cup behind him, sprang over the
table, and fell at Lina’s feet. The rest of the princes fell likewise
at the knees of the princesses, each of whom chose a husband and raised
him to her side. The charm was broken.

The twelve couples embarked in the boats, which crossed back many times
in order to carry over the other princes. Then they all went through
the three woods, and when they had passed the door of the underground
passage a great noise was heard, as if the enchanted castle was
crumbling to the earth.

They went straight to the room of the Duke of Beloeil, who had just
awoke. Michael held in his hand the golden cup, and he revealed the
secret of the holes in the shoes.

‘Choose, then,’ said the Duke, ‘whichever you prefer.’

‘My choice is already made,’ replied the garden boy, and he offered his
hand to the youngest Princess, who blushed and lowered her eyes.

XVI

The Princess Lina did not become a gardener’s wife; on the contrary, it
was the Star Gazer who became a Prince: but before the marriage
ceremony the Princess insisted that her lover should tell her how he
came to discover the secret.

So he showed her the two laurels which had helped him, and she, like a
prudent girl, thinking they gave him too much advantage over his wife,
cut them off at the root and threw them in the fire. And this is why
the country girls go about singing:

Nous n’irons plus au bois,
Les lauriers sont coupés,


and dancing in summer by the light of the moon.




THE PRINCESS MAYBLOSSOM


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen whose children had all
died, first one and then another, until at last only one little
daughter remained, and the Queen was at her wits’ end to know where to
find a really good nurse who would take care of her, and bring her up.
A herald was sent who blew a trumpet at every street corner, and
commanded all the best nurses to appear before the Queen, that she
might choose one for the little Princess. So on the appointed day the
whole palace was crowded with nurses, who came from the four corners of
the world to offer themselves, until the Queen declared that if she was
ever to see the half of them, they must be brought out to her, one by
one, as she sat in a shady wood near the palace.

This was accordingly done, and the nurses, after they had made their
curtsey to the King and Queen, ranged themselves in a line before her
that she might choose. Most of them were fair and fat and charming, but
there was one who was dark-skinned and ugly, and spoke a strange
language which nobody could understand. The Queen wondered how she
dared offer herself, and she was told to go away, as she certainly
would not do. Upon which she muttered something and passed on, but hid
herself in a hollow tree, from which she could see all that happened.
The Queen, without giving her another thought, chose a pretty
rosy-faced nurse, but no sooner was her choice made than a snake, which
was hidden in the grass, bit that very nurse on her foot, so that she
fell down as if dead. The Queen was very much vexed by this accident,
but she soon selected another, who was just stepping forward when an
eagle flew by and dropped a large tortoise upon her head, which was
cracked in pieces like an egg-shell. At this the Queen was much
horrified; nevertheless, she chose a third time, but with no better
fortune, for the nurse, moving quickly, ran into the branch of a tree
and blinded herself with a thorn. Then the Queen in dismay cried that
there must be some malignant influence at work, and that she would
choose no more that day; and she had just risen to return to the palace
when she heard peals of malicious laughter behind her, and turning
round saw the ugly stranger whom she had dismissed, who was making very
merry over the disasters and mocking everyone, but especially the
Queen. This annoyed Her Majesty very much, and she was about to order
that she should be arrested, when the witch—for she was a witch—with
two blows from a wand summoned a chariot of fire drawn by winged
dragons, and was whirled off through the air uttering threats and
cries. When the King saw this he cried:

‘Alas! now we are ruined indeed, for that was no other than the Fairy
Carabosse, who has had a grudge against me ever since I was a boy and
put sulphur into her porridge one day for fun.’

Then the Queen began to cry.

‘If I had only known who it was,’ she said, ‘I would have done my best
to make friends with her; now I suppose all is lost.’

The King was sorry to have frightened her so much, and proposed that
they should go and hold a council as to what was best to be done to
avert the misfortunes which Carabosse certainly meant to bring upon the
little Princess.

So all the counsellors were summoned to the palace, and when they had
shut every door and window, and stuffed up every keyhole that they
might not be overheard, they talked the affair over, and decided that
every fairy for a thousand leagues round should be invited to the
christening of the Princess, and that the time of the ceremony should
be kept a profound secret, in case the Fairy Carabosse should take it
into her head to attend it.

The Queen and her ladies set to work to prepare presents for the
fairies who were invited: for each one a blue velvet cloak, a petticoat
of apricot satin, a pair of high-heeled shoes, some sharp needles, and
a pair of golden scissors. Of all the fairies the Queen knew, only five
were able to come on the day appointed, but they began immediately to
bestow gifts upon the Princess. One promised that she should be
perfectly beautiful, the second that she should understand anything—no
matter what—the first time it was explained to her, the third that she
should sing like a nightingale, the fourth that she should succeed in
everything she undertook, and the fifth was opening her mouth to speak
when a tremendous rumbling was heard in the chimney, and Carabosse, all
covered with soot, came rolling down, crying:

‘I say that she shall be the unluckiest of the unlucky until she is
twenty years old.’

Then the Queen and all the fairies began to beg and beseech her to
think better of it, and not be so unkind to the poor little Princess,
who had never done her any harm. But the ugly old Fairy only grunted
and made no answer. So the last Fairy, who had not yet given her gift,
tried to mend matters by promising the Princess a long and happy life
after the fatal time was over. At this Carabosse laughed maliciously,
and climbed away up the chimney, leaving them all in great
consternation, and especially the Queen. However, she entertained the
fairies splendidly, and gave them beautiful ribbons, of which they are
very fond, in addition to the other presents.

When they were going away the oldest Fairy said that they were of
opinion that it would be best to shut the Princess up in some place,
with her waiting-women, so that she might not see anyone else until she
was twenty years old. So the King had a tower built on purpose. It had
no windows, so it was lighted with wax candles, and the only way into
it was by an underground passage, which had iron doors only twenty feet
apart, and guards were posted everywhere.

The Princess had been named Mayblossom, because she was as fresh and
blooming as Spring itself, and she grew up tall and beautiful, and
everything she did and said was charming. Every time the King and Queen
came to see her they were more delighted with her than before, but
though she was weary of the tower, and often begged them to take her
away from it, they always refused. The Princess’s nurse, who had never
left her, sometimes told her about the world outside the tower, and
though the Princess had never seen anything for herself, yet she always
understood exactly, thanks to the second Fairy’s gift. Often the King
said to the Queen:

‘We were cleverer than Carabosse after all. Our Mayblossom will be
happy in spite of her predictions.’

And the Queen laughed until she was tired at the idea of having
outwitted the old Fairy. They had caused the Princess’s portrait to be
painted and sent to all the neighbouring Courts, for in four days she
would have completed her twentieth year, and it was time to decide whom
she should marry. All the town was rejoicing at the thought of the
Princess’s approaching freedom, and when the news came that King Merlin
was sending his ambassador to ask her in marriage for his son, they
were still more delighted. The nurse, who kept the Princess informed of
everything that went forward in the town, did not fail to repeat the
news that so nearly concerned her, and gave such a description of the
splendour in which the ambassador Fanfaronade would enter the town,
that the Princess was wild to see the procession for herself.

‘What an unhappy creature I am,’ she cried, ‘to be shut up in this
dismal tower as if I had committed some crime! I have never seen the
sun, or the stars, or a horse, or a monkey, or a lion, except in
pictures, and though the King and Queen tell me I am to be set free
when I am twenty, I believe they only say it to keep me amused, when
they never mean to let me out at all.’

And then she began to cry, and her nurse, and the nurse’s daughter, and
the cradle-rocker, and the nursery-maid, who all loved her dearly,
cried too for company, so that nothing could be heard but sobs and
sighs. It was a scene of woe. When the Princess saw that they all
pitied her she made up her mind to have her own way. So she declared
that she would starve herself to death if they did not find some means
of letting her see Fanfaronade’s grand entry into the town.

‘If you really love me,’ she said, ‘you will manage it, somehow or
other, and the King and Queen need never know anything about it.’

Then the nurse and all the others cried harder than ever, and said
everything they could think of to turn the Princess from her idea. But
the more they said the more determined she was, and at last they
consented to make a tiny hole in the tower on the side that looked
towards the city gates.

After scratching and scraping all day and all night, they presently
made a hole through which they could, with great difficulty, push a
very slender needle, and out of this the Princess looked at the
daylight for the first time. She was so dazzled and delighted by what
she saw, that there she stayed, never taking her eyes away from the
peep-hole for a single minute, until presently the ambassador’s
procession appeared in sight.

At the head of it rode Fanfaronade himself upon a white horse, which
pranced and caracoled to the sound of the trumpets. Nothing could have
been more splendid than the ambassador’s attire. His coat was nearly
hidden under an embroidery of pearls and diamonds, his boots were solid
gold, and from his helmet floated scarlet plumes. At the sight of him
the Princess lost her wits entirely, and determined that Fanfaronade
and nobody else would she marry.

‘It is quite impossible,’ she said, ‘that his master should be half as
handsome and delightful. I am not ambitious, and having spent all my
life in this tedious tower, anything—even a house in the country—will
seem a delightful change. I am sure that bread and water shared with
Fanfaronade will please me far better than roast chicken and sweetmeats
with anybody else.’

And so she went on talk, talk, talking, until her waiting-women
wondered where she got it all from. But when they tried to stop her,
and represented that her high rank made it perfectly impossible that
she should do any such thing, she would not listen, and ordered them to
be silent.

As soon as the ambassador arrived at the palace, the Queen started to
fetch her daughter.

All the streets were spread with carpets, and the windows were full of
ladies who were waiting to see the Princess, and carried baskets of
flowers and sweetmeats to shower upon her as she passed.

They had hardly begun to get the Princess ready when a dwarf arrived,
mounted upon an elephant. He came from the five fairies, and brought
for the Princess a crown, a sceptre, and a robe of golden brocade, with
a petticoat marvellously embroidered with butterflies’ wings. They also
sent a casket of jewels, so splendid that no one had ever seen anything
like it before, and the Queen was perfectly dazzled when she opened it.
But the Princess scarcely gave a glance to any of these treasures, for
she thought of nothing but Fanfaronade. The Dwarf was rewarded with a
gold piece, and decorated with so many ribbons that it was hardly
possible to see him at all. The Princess sent to each of the fairies a
new spinning-wheel with a distaff of cedar wood, and the Queen said she
must look through her treasures and find something very charming to
send them also.

When the Princess was arrayed in all the gorgeous things the Dwarf had
brought, she was more beautiful than ever, and as she walked along the
streets the people cried: ‘How pretty she is! How pretty she is!’

The procession consisted of the Queen, the Princess, five dozen other
princesses her cousins, and ten dozen who came from the neighbouring
kingdoms; and as they proceeded at a stately pace the sky began to grow
dark, then suddenly the thunder growled, and rain and hail fell in
torrents. The Queen put her royal mantle over her head, and all the
princesses did the same with their trains. Mayblossom was just about to
follow their example when a terrific croaking, as of an immense army of
crows, rooks, ravens, screech-owls, and all birds of ill-omen was
heard, and at the same instant a huge owl skimmed up to the Princess,
and threw over her a scarf woven of spiders’ webs and embroidered with
bats’ wings. And then peals of mocking laughter rang through the air,
and they guessed that this was another of the Fairy Carabosse’s
unpleasant jokes.

The Queen was terrified at such an evil omen, and tried to pull the
black scarf from the Princess’s shoulders, but it really seemed as if
it must be nailed on, it clung so closely.

‘Ah!’ cried the Queen, ‘can nothing appease this enemy of ours? What
good was it that I sent her more than fifty pounds of sweetmeats, and
as much again of the best sugar, not to mention two Westphalia hams?
She is as angry as ever.’

While she lamented in this way, and everybody was as wet as if they had
been dragged through a river, the Princess still thought of nothing but
the ambassador, and just at this moment he appeared before her, with
the King, and there was a great blowing of trumpets, and all the people
shouted louder than ever. Fanfaronade was not generally at a loss for
something to say, but when he saw the Princess, she was so much more
beautiful and majestic than he had expected that he could only stammer
out a few words, and entirely forgot the harangue which he had been
learning for months, and knew well enough to have repeated it in his
sleep. To gain time to remember at least part of it, he made several
low bows to the Princess, who on her side dropped half-a-dozen curtseys
without stopping to think, and then said, to relieve his evident
embarrassment:

‘Sir Ambassador, I am sure that everything you intend to say is
charming, since it is you who mean to say it; but let us make haste
into the palace, as it is pouring cats and dogs, and the wicked Fairy
Carabosse will be amused to see us all stand dripping here. When we are
once under shelter we can laugh at her.’

Upon this the Ambassador found his tongue, and replied gallantly that
the Fairy had evidently foreseen the flames that would be kindled by
the bright eyes of the Princess, and had sent this deluge to extinguish
them. Then he offered his hand to conduct the Princess, and she said
softly:

‘As you could not possibly guess how much I like you, Sir Fanfaronade,
I am obliged to tell you plainly that, since I saw you enter the town
on your beautiful prancing horse, I have been sorry that you came to
speak for another instead of for yourself. So, if you think about it as
I do, I will marry you instead of your master. Of course I know you are
not a prince, but I shall be just as fond of you as if you were, and we
can go and live in some cosy little corner of the world, and be as
happy as the days are long.’

The Ambassador thought he must be dreaming, and could hardly believe
what the lovely Princess said. He dared not answer, but only squeezed
the Princess’s hand until he really hurt her little finger, but she did
not cry out. When they reached the palace the King kissed his daughter
on both cheeks, and said:

‘My little lambkin, are you willing to marry the great King Merlin’s
son, for this Ambassador has come on his behalf to fetch you?’

‘If you please, sire,’ said the Princess, dropping a curtsey.

‘I consent also,’ said the Queen; ‘so let the banquet be prepared.’

This was done with all speed, and everybody feasted except Mayblossom
and Fanfaronade, who looked at one another and forgot everything else.

After the banquet came a ball, and after that again a ballet, and at
last they were all so tired that everyone fell asleep just where he
sat. Only the lovers were as wide-awake as mice, and the Princess,
seeing that there was nothing to fear, said to Fanfaronade:

‘Let us be quick and run away, for we shall never have a better chance
than this.’

Then she took the King’s dagger, which was in a diamond sheath, and the
Queen’s neck-handkerchief, and gave her hand to Fanfaronade, who
carried a lantern, and they ran out together into the muddy street and
down to the sea-shore. Here they got into a little boat in which the
poor old boatman was sleeping, and when he woke up and saw the lovely
Princess, with all her diamonds and her spiders’—web scarf, he did not
know what to think, and obeyed her instantly when she commanded him to
set out. They could see neither moon nor stars, but in the Queen’s
neck-handkerchief there was a carbuncle which glowed like fifty
torches. Fanfaronade asked the Princess where she would like to go, but
she only answered that she did not care where she went as long as he
was with her.

‘But, Princess,’ said he, ‘I dare not take you back to King Merlin’s
court. He would think hanging too good for me.’

‘Oh, in that case,’ she answered, ‘we had better go to Squirrel Island;
it is lonely enough, and too far off for anyone to follow us there.’

So she ordered the old boatman to steer for Squirrel Island.

Meanwhile the day was breaking, and the King and Queen and all the
courtiers began to wake up and rub their eyes, and think it was time to
finish the preparations for the wedding. And the Queen asked for her
neck-handkerchief, that she might look smart. Then there was a
scurrying hither and thither, and a hunting everywhere: they looked
into every place, from the wardrobes to the stoves, and the Queen
herself ran about from the garret to the cellar, but the handkerchief
was nowhere to be found.

By this time the King had missed his dagger, and the search began all
over again. They opened boxes and chests of which the keys had been
lost for a hundred years, and found numbers of curious things, but not
the dagger, and the King tore his beard, and the Queen tore her hair,
for the handkerchief and the dagger were the most valuable things in
the kingdom.

When the King saw that the search was hopeless he said:

‘Never mind, let us make haste and get the wedding over before anything
else is lost.’ And then he asked where the Princess was. Upon this her
nurse came forward and said:

‘Sire, I have been seeking her these two hours, but she is nowhere to
be found.’ This was more than the Queen could bear. She gave a shriek
of alarm and fainted away, and they had to pour two barrels of
eau-de-cologne over her before she recovered. When she came to herself
everybody was looking for the Princess in the greatest terror and
confusion, but as she did not appear, the King said to his page:

‘Go and find the Ambassador Fanfaronade, who is doubtless asleep in
some corner, and tell him the sad news.’

So the page hunted hither and thither, but Fanfaronade was no more to
be found than the Princess, the dagger, or the neck-handkerchief!

Then the King summoned his counsellors and his guards, and, accompanied
by the Queen, went into his great hall. As he had not had time to
prepare his speech beforehand, the King ordered that silence should be
kept for three hours, and at the end of that time he spoke as follows:

‘Listen, great and small! My dear daughter Mayblossom is lost: whether
she has been stolen away or has simply disappeared I cannot tell. The
Queen’s neck-handkerchief and my sword, which are worth their weight in
gold, are also missing, and, what is worst of all, the Ambassador
Fanfaronade is nowhere to be found. I greatly fear that the King, his
master, when he receives no tidings from him, will come to seek him
among us, and will accuse us of having made mince-meat of him. Perhaps
I could bear even that if I had any money, but I assure you that the
expenses of the wedding have completely ruined me. Advise me, then, my
dear subjects, what had I better do to recover my daughter,
Fanfaronade, and the other things.’

This was the most eloquent speech the King had been known to make, and
when everybody had done admiring it the Prime Minister made answer:

‘Sire, we are all very sorry to see you so sorry. We would give
everything we value in the world to take away the cause of your sorrow,
but this seems to be another of the tricks of the Fairy Carabosse. The
Princess’s twenty unlucky years were not quite over, and really, if the
truth must be told, I noticed that Fanfaronade and the Princess
appeared to admire one another greatly. Perhaps this may give some clue
to the mystery of their disappearance.’

Here the Queen interrupted him, saying, ‘Take care what you say, sir.
Believe me, the Princess Mayblossom was far too well brought up to
think of falling in love with an Ambassador.’

At this the nurse came forward, and, falling on her knees, confessed
how they had made the little needle-hole in the tower, and how the
Princess had declared when she saw the Ambassador that she would marry
him and nobody else. Then the Queen was very angry, and gave the nurse,
and the cradle-rocker, and the nursery-maid such a scolding that they
shook in their shoes. But the Admiral Cocked-Hat interrupted her,
crying:

‘Let us be off after this good-for-nothing Fanfaronade, for with out a
doubt he has run away with our Princess.’

Then there was a great clapping of hands, and everybody shouted, ‘By
all means let us be after him.’

So while some embarked upon the sea, the others ran from kingdom to
kingdom beating drums and blowing trumpets, and wherever a crowd
collected they cried:

‘Whoever wants a beautiful doll, sweetmeats of all kinds, a little pair
of scissors, a golden robe, and a satin cap has only to say where
Fanfaronade has hidden the Princess Mayblossom.’

But the answer everywhere was, ‘You must go farther, we have not seen
them.’

However, those who went by sea were more fortunate, for after sailing
about for some time they noticed a light before them which burned at
night like a great fire. At first they dared not go near it, not
knowing what it might be, but by-and-by it remained stationary over
Squirrel Island, for, as you have guessed already, the light was the
glowing of the carbuncle. The Princess and Fanfaronade on landing upon
the island had given the boatman a hundred gold pieces, and made him
promise solemnly to tell no one where he had taken them; but the first
thing that happened was that, as he rowed away, he got into the midst
of the fleet, and before he could escape the Admiral had seen him and
sent a boat after him.

When he was searched they found the gold pieces in his pocket, and as
they were quite new coins, struck in honour of the Princess’s wedding,
the Admiral felt certain that the boatman must have been paid by the
Princess to aid her in her flight. But he would not answer any
questions, and pretended to be deaf and dumb.

Then the Admiral said: ‘Oh! deaf and dumb is he? Lash him to the mast
and give him a taste of the cat-o’-nine-tails. I don’t know anything
better than that for curing the deaf and dumb!’

And when the old boatman saw that he was in earnest, he told all he
knew about the cavalier and the lady whom he had landed upon Squirrel
Island, and the Admiral knew it must be the Princess and Fanfaronade;
so he gave the order for the fleet to surround the island.

Meanwhile the Princess Mayblossom, who was by this time terribly
sleepy, had found a grassy bank in the shade, and throwing herself down
had already fallen into a profound slumber, when Fanfaronade, who
happened to be hungry and not sleepy, came and woke her up, saying,
very crossly:

‘Pray, madam, how long do you mean to stay here? I see nothing to eat,
and though you may be very charming, the sight of you does not prevent
me from famishing.’

‘What! Fanfaronade,’ said the Princess, sitting up and rubbing her
eyes, ‘is it possible that when I am here with you you can want
anything else? You ought to be thinking all the time how happy you
are.’

‘Happy!’ cried he; ‘say rather unhappy. I wish with all my heart that
you were back in your dark tower again.’

‘Darling, don’t be cross,’ said the Princess. ‘I will go and see if I
can find some wild fruit for you.’

‘I wish you might find a wolf to eat you up,’ growled Fanfaronade.

The Princess, in great dismay, ran hither and thither all about the
wood, tearing her dress, and hurting her pretty white hands with the
thorns and brambles, but she could find nothing good to eat, and at
last she had to go back sorrowfully to Fanfaronade. When he saw that
she came empty-handed he got up and left her, grumbling to himself.

The next day they searched again, but with no better success.

‘Alas!’ said the Princess, ‘if only I could find something for you to
eat, I should not mind being hungry myself.’

‘No, I should not mind that either,’ answered Fanfaronade.

‘Is it possible,’ said she, ‘that you would not care if I died of
hunger? Oh, Fanfaronade, you said you loved me!’

‘That was when we were in quite another place and I was not hungry,’
said he. ‘It makes a great difference in one’s ideas to be dying of
hunger and thirst on a desert island.’

At this the Princess was dreadfully vexed, and she sat down under a
white rose bush and began to cry bitterly.

‘Happy roses,’ she thought to herself, ‘they have only to blossom in
the sunshine and be admired, and there is nobody to be unkind to them.’
And the tears ran down her cheeks and splashed on to the rose-tree
roots. Presently she was surprised to see the whole bush rustling and
shaking, and a soft little voice from the prettiest rosebud said:

‘Poor Princess! look in the trunk of that tree, and you will find a
honeycomb, but don’t be foolish enough to share it with Fanfaronade.’

Mayblossom ran to the tree, and sure enough there was the honey.
Without losing a moment she ran with it to Fanfaronade, crying gaily:

‘See, here is a honeycomb that I have found. I might have eaten it up
all by myself, but I had rather share it with you.’

But without looking at her or thanking her he snatched the honey comb
out of her hands and ate it all up—every bit, without offering her a
morsel. Indeed, when she humbly asked for some he said mockingly that
it was too sweet for her, and would spoil her teeth.

Mayblossom, more downcast than ever, went sadly away and sat down under
an oak tree, and her tears and sighs were so piteous that the oak
fanned her with his rustling leaves, and said:

‘Take courage, pretty Princess, all is not lost yet. Take this pitcher
of milk and drink it up, and whatever you do, don’t leave a drop for
Fanfaronade.’

The Princess, quite astonished, looked round, and saw a big pitcher
full of milk, but before she could raise it to her lips the thought of
how thirsty Fanfaronade must be, after eating at least fifteen pounds
of honey, made her run back to him and say:

‘Here is a pitcher of milk; drink some, for you must be thirsty I am
sure; but pray save a little for me, as I am dying of hunger and
thirst.’

But he seized the pitcher and drank all it contained at a single
draught, and then broke it to atoms on the nearest stone, saying with a
malicious smile: ‘As you have not eaten anything you cannot be
thirsty.’

‘Ah!’ cried the Princess, ‘I am well punished for disappointing the
King and Queen, and running away with this Ambassador about whom I knew
nothing.’

And so saying she wandered away into the thickest part of the wood, and
sat down under a thorn tree, where a nightingale was singing. Presently
she heard him say: ‘Search under the bush Princess; you will find some
sugar, almonds, and some tarts there But don’t be silly enough to offer
Fanfaronade any.’ And this time the Princess, who was fainting with
hunger, took the nightingale’s advice, and ate what she found all by
herself. But Fanfaronade, seeing that she had found something good, and
was not going to share it with him, ran after her in such a fury that
she hastily drew out the Queen’s carbuncle, which had the property of
rendering people invisible if they were in danger, and when she was
safely hidden from him she reproached him gently for his unkindness.

Meanwhile Admiral Cocked-Hat had despatched
Jack-the-Chatterer-of-the-Straw-Boots, Courier in Ordinary to the Prime
Minister, to tell the King that the Princess and the Ambassador had
landed on Squirrel Island, but that not knowing the country he had not
pursued them, for fear of being captured by concealed enemies. Their
Majesties were overjoyed at the news, and the King sent for a great
book, each leaf of which was eight ells long. It was the work of a very
clever Fairy, and contained a description of the whole earth. He very
soon found that Squirrel Island was uninhabited.

‘Go,’ said he, to Jack-the-Chatterer, ‘tell the Admiral from me to land
at once. I am surprised at his not having done so sooner.’ As soon as
this message reached the fleet, every preparation was made for war, and
the noise was so great that it reached the ears of the Princess, who at
once flew to protect her lover. As he was not very brave he accepted
her aid gladly.

‘You stand behind me,’ said she, ‘and I will hold the carbuncle which
will make us invisible, and with the King’s dagger I can protect you
from the enemy.’ So when the soldiers landed they could see nothing,
but the Princess touched them one after another with the dagger, and
they fell insensible upon the sand, so that at last the Admiral, seeing
that there was some enchantment, hastily gave orders for a retreat to
be sounded, and got his men back into their boats in great confusion.

Fanfaronade, being once more left with the Princess, began to think
that if he could get rid of her, and possess himself of the carbuncle
and the dagger, he would be able to make his escape. So as they walked
back over the cliffs he gave the Princess a great push, hoping she
would fall into the sea; but she stepped aside so quickly that he only
succeeded in overbalancing himself, and over he went, and sank to the
bottom of the sea like a lump of lead, and was never heard of any more.
While the Princess was still looking after him in horror, her attention
was attracted by a rushing noise over her head, and looking up she saw
two chariots approaching rapidly from opposite directions. One was
bright and glittering, and drawn by swans and peacocks, while the Fairy
who sat in it was beautiful as a sunbeam; but the other was drawn by
bats and ravens, and contained a frightful little Dwarf, who was
dressed in a snake’s skin, and wore a great toad upon her head for a
hood. The chariots met with a frightful crash in mid-air, and the
Princess looked on in breathless anxiety while a furious battle took
place between the lovely Fairy with her golden lance, and the hideous
little Dwarf and her rusty pike. But very soon it was evident that the
Beauty had the best of it, and the Dwarf turned her bats’ heads and
flickered away in great confusion, while the Fairy came down to where
the Princess stood, and said, smiling, ‘You see Princess, I have
completely routed that malicious old Carabosse. Will you believe it!
she actually wanted to claim authority over you for ever, because you
came out of the tower four days before the twenty years were ended.
However, I think I have settled her pretensions, and I hope you will be
very happy and enjoy the freedom I have won for you.’

The Princess thanked her heartily, and then the Fairy despatched one of
her peacocks to her palace to bring a gorgeous robe for Mayblossom, who
certainly needed it, for her own was torn to shreds by the thorns and
briars. Another peacock was sent to the Admiral to tell him that he
could now land in perfect safety, which he at once did, bringing all
his men with him, even to Jack-the-Chatterer, who, happening to pass
the spit upon which the Admiral’s dinner was roasting, snatched it up
and brought it with him.

Admiral Cocked-Hat was immensely surprised when he came upon the golden
chariot, and still more so to see two lovely ladies walking under the
trees a little farther away. When he reached them, of course he
recognised the Princess, and he went down on his knees and kissed her
hand quite joyfully. Then she presented him to the Fairy, and told him
how Carabosse had been finally routed, and he thanked and congratulated
the Fairy, who was most gracious to him. While they were talking she
cried suddenly:

‘I declare I smell a savoury dinner.’

‘Why yes, Madam, here it is,’ said Jack-the-Chatterer, holding up the
spit, where all the pheasants and partridges were frizzling. ‘Will your
Highness please to taste any of them?’

‘By all means,’ said the Fairy, ‘especially as the Princess will
certainly be glad of a good meal.’

So the Admiral sent back to his ship for everything that was needful,
and they feasted merrily under the trees. By the time they had finished
the peacock had come back with a robe for the Princess, in which the
Fairy arrayed her. It was of green and gold brocade, embroidered with
pearls and rubies, and her long golden hair was tied back with strings
of diamonds and emeralds, and crowned with flowers. The Fairy made her
mount beside her in the golden chariot, and took her on board the
Admiral’s ship, where she bade her farewell, sending many messages of
friendship to the Queen, and bidding the Princess tell her that she was
the fifth Fairy who had attended the christening. Then salutes were
fired, the fleet weighed anchor, and very soon they reached the port.
Here the King and Queen were waiting, and they received the Princess
with such joy and kindness that she could not get a word in edgewise,
to say how sorry she was for having run away with such a very poor
spirited Ambassador. But, after all, it must have been all Carabosse’s
fault. Just at this lucky moment who should arrive but King Merlin’s
son, who had become uneasy at not receiving any news from his
Ambassador, and so had started himself with a magnificent escort of a
thousand horsemen, and thirty body-guards in gold and scarlet uniforms,
to see what could have happened. As he was a hundred times handsomer
and braver than the Ambassador, the Princess found she could like him
very much. So the wedding was held at once, with so much splendour and
rejoicing that all the previous misfortunes were quite forgotten.[1]

 [1] _La Princesse Printanière._ Par Mme. d’Aulnoy.




SORIA MORIA CASTLE


There was once upon a time a couple of folks who had a son called
Halvor. Ever since he had been a little boy he had been unwilling to do
any work, and had just sat raking about among the ashes. His parents
sent him away to learn several things, but Halvor stayed nowhere, for
when he had been gone two or three days he always ran away from his
master, hurried off home, and sat down in the chimney corner to grub
among the ashes again.

One day, however, a sea captain came and asked Halvor if he hadn’t a
fancy to come with him and go to sea, and behold foreign lands. And
Halvor had a fancy for that, so he was not long in getting ready.

How long they sailed I have no idea, but after a long, long time there
was a terrible storm, and when it was over and all had become calm
again, they knew not where they were, for they had been driven away to
a strange coast of which none of them had any knowledge.

As there was no wind at all they lay there becalmed, and Halvor asked
the skipper to give him leave to go on shore to look about him, for he
would much rather do that than lie there and sleep.

‘Dost thou think that thou art fit to go where people can see thee?’
said the skipper; ‘thou hast no clothes but those rags thou art going
about in!’

Halvor still begged for leave, and at last got it, but he was to come
back at once if the wind began to rise.

So he went on shore, and it was a delightful country; whithersoever he
went there were wide plains with fields and meadows, but as for people,
there were none to be seen. The wind began to rise, but Halvor thought
that he had not seen enough yet, and that he would like to walk about a
little longer, to try if he could not meet somebody. So after a while
he came to a great highway, which was so smooth that an egg might have
been rolled along it without breaking. Halvor followed this, and when
evening drew near he saw a big castle far away in the distance, and
there were lights in it. So as he had now been walking the whole day
and had not brought anything to eat away with him, he was frightfully
hungry. Nevertheless, the nearer he came to the castle the more afraid
he was.

A fire was burning in the castle, and Halvor went into the kitchen,
which was more magnificent than any kitchen he had ever yet beheld.
There were vessels of gold and silver, but not one human being was to
be seen. When Halvor had stood there for some time, and no one had come
out, he went in and opened a door, and inside a Princess was sitting at
her wheel spinning.

‘Nay!’ she cried, ‘can Christian folk dare to come hither? But the best
thing that you can do is to go away again, for if not the Troll will
devour you. A Troll with three heads lives here.’

‘I should have been just as well pleased if he had had four heads more,
for I should have enjoyed seeing the fellow,’ said the youth; ‘and I
won’t go away, for I have done no harm, but you must give me something
to eat, for I am frightfully hungry.’

When Halvor had eaten his fill, the Princess told him to try if he
could wield the sword which was hanging on the wall, but he could not
wield it, nor could he even lift it up.

‘Well, then, you must take a drink out of that bottle which is hanging
by its side, for that’s what the Troll does whenever he goes out and
wants to use the sword,’ said the Princess.

Halvor took a draught, and in a moment he was able to swing the sword
about with perfect ease. And now he thought it was high time for the
Troll to make his appearance, and at that very moment he came, panting
for breath.

Halvor got behind the door.

‘Hutetu!’ said the Troll as he put his head in at the door. ‘It smells
just as if there were Christian man’s blood here!’

‘Yes, you shall learn that there is!’ said Halvor, and cut off all his
heads.

The Princess was so rejoiced to be free that she danced and sang, but
then she remembered her sisters, and said: ‘If my sisters were but free
too!’

‘Where are they?’ asked Halvor.

So she told him where they were. One of them had been taken away by a
Troll to his castle, which was six miles off, and the other had been
carried off to a castle which was nine miles farther off still.

‘But now,’ said she, ‘you must first help me to get this dead body away
from here.’

Halvor was so strong that he cleared everything away, and made all
clean and tidy very quickly. So then they ate and drank, and were
happy, and next morning he set off in the grey light of dawn. He gave
himself no rest, but walked or ran the livelong day. When he came in
sight of the castle he was again just a little afraid. It was much more
splendid than the other, but here too there was not a human being to be
seen. So Halvor went into the kitchen, and did not linger there either,
but went straight in.

‘Nay! do Christian folk dare to come here?’ cried the second Princess.
‘I know not how long it is since I myself came, but during all that
time I have never seen a Christian man. It will be better for you to
depart at once, for a Troll lives here who has six heads.’

‘No, I shall not go,’ said Halvor; ‘even if he had six more I would
not.’

‘He will swallow you up alive,’ said the Princess.

But she spoke to no purpose, for Halvor would not go; he was not afraid
of the Troll, but he wanted some meat and drink, for he was hungry
after his journey. So she gave him as much as he would have, and then
she once more tried to make him go away.

‘No,’ said Halvor, ‘I will not go, for I have not done anything wrong,
and I have no reason to be afraid.’

‘He won’t ask any questions about that,’ said the Princess, ‘for he
will take you without leave or right; but as you will not go, try if
you can wield that sword which the Troll uses in battle.’

He could not brandish the sword; so the Princess said that he was to
take a draught from the flask which hung by its side, and when he had
done that he could wield the sword.

Soon afterwards the Troll came, and he was so large and stout that he
was forced to go sideways to get through the door. When the Troll got
his first head in he cried: ‘Hutetu! It smells of a Christian man’s
blood here!’

With that Halvor cut off the first head, and so on with all the rest.
The Princess was now exceedingly delighted, but then she remembered her
sisters, and wished that they too were free. Halvor thought that might
be managed, and wanted to set off immediately; but first he had to help
the Princess to remove the Troll’s body, so it was not until morning
that he set forth on his way.

It was a long way to the castle, and he both walked and ran to get
there in time. Late in the evening he caught sight of it, and it was
very much more magnificent than either of the others. And this time he
was not in the least afraid, but went into the kitchen, and then
straight on inside the castle. There a Princess was sitting, who was so
beautiful that there was never anyone to equal her. She too said what
the others had said, that no Christian folk had ever been there since
she had come, and entreated him to go away again, or else the Troll
would swallow him up alive. The Troll had nine heads, she told him.

‘Yes, and if he had nine added to the nine, and then nine more still, I
would not go away,’ said Halvor, and went and stood by the stove.

The Princess begged him very prettily to go lest the Troll should
devour him; but Halvor said, ‘Let him come when he will.’

So she gave him the Troll’s sword, and bade him take a drink from the
flask to enable him to wield it.

At that same moment the Troll came, breathing hard, and he was ever so
much bigger and stouter than either of the others, and he too was
forced to go sideways to get in through the door.

‘Hutetu! what a smell of Christian blood there is here!’ said he.

Then Halvor cut off the first head, and after that the others, but the
last was the toughest of them all, and it was the hardest work that
Halvor had ever done to get it off, but he still believed that he would
have strength enough to do it.

And now all the Princesses came to the castle, and were together again,
and they were happier than they had ever been in their lives; and they
were delighted with Halvor, and he with them, and he was to choose the
one he liked best; but of the three sisters the youngest loved him
best.

But Halvor went about and was so strange and so mournful and quiet that
the Princesses asked what it was that he longed for, and if he did not
like to be with them. He said that he did like to be with them, for
they had enough to live on, and he was very comfortable there; but he
longed to go home, for his father and mother were alive, and he had a
great desire to see them again.

They thought that this might easily be done.

‘You shall go and return in perfect safety if you will follow our
advice,’ said the Princesses.

So he said that he would do nothing that they did not wish.

Then they dressed him so splendidly that he was like a King’s son; and
they put a ring on his finger, and it was one which would enable him to
go there and back again by wishing, but they told him that he must not
throw it away, or name their names; for if he did, all his magnificence
would be at an end, and then he would never see them more.

‘If I were but at home again, or if home were but here!’ said Halvor,
and no sooner had he wished this than it was granted. Halvor was
standing outside his father and mother’s cottage before he knew what he
was about. The darkness of night was coming on, and when the father and
mother saw such a splendid and stately stranger walk in, they were so
startled that they both began to bow and curtsey.

Halvor then inquired if he could stay there and have lodging for the
night. No, that he certainly could not. ‘We can give you no such
accommodation,’ they said, ‘for we have none of the things that are
needful when a great lord like you is to be entertained. It will be
better for you to go up to the farm. It is not far off, you can see the
chimney-pots from here, and there they have plenty of everything.’

Halvor would not hear of that, he was absolutely determined to stay
where he was; but the old folks stuck to what they had said, and told
him that he was to go to the farm, where he could get both meat and
drink, whereas they themselves had not even a chair to offer him.

‘No,’ said Halvor, ‘I will not go up there till early to-morrow
morning; let me stay here to-night. I can sit down on the hearth.’

They could say nothing against that, so Halvor sat down on the hearth,
and began to rake about among the ashes just as he had done before,
when he lay there idling away his time.

They chattered much about many things, and told Halvor of this and of
that, and at last he asked them if they had never had any child.

‘Yes,’ they said; they had had a boy who was called Halvor, but they
did not know where he had gone, and they could not even say whether he
were dead or alive.

‘Could I be he?’ said Halvor.

‘I should know him well enough,’ said the old woman rising. ‘Our Halvor
was so idle and slothful that he never did anything at all, and he was
so ragged that one hole ran into another all over his clothes. Such a
fellow as he was could never turn into such a man as you are, sir.’

In a short time the old woman had to go to the fireplace to stir the
fire, and when the blaze lit up Halvor, as it used to do when he was at
home raking up the ashes, she knew him again.

‘Good Heavens! is that you, Halvor?’ said she, and such great gladness
fell on the old parents that there were no bounds to it. And now he had
to relate everything that had befallen him, and the old woman was so
delighted with him that she would take him up to the farm at once to
show him to the girls who had formerly looked down on him so. She went
there first, and Halvor followed her. When she got there she told them
how Halvor had come home again, and now they should just see how
magnificent he was. ‘He looks like a prince,’ she said.

‘We shall see that he is just the same ragamuffin that he was before,’
said the girls, tossing their heads.

At that same moment Halvor entered, and the girls were so astonished
that they left their kirtles lying in the chimney corner, and ran away
in nothing but their petticoats. When they came in again they were so
shamefaced that they hardly dared to look at Halvor, towards whom they
had always been so proud and haughty before.

‘Ay, ay! you have always thought that you were so pretty and dainty
that no one was equal to you,’ said Halvor, ‘but you should just see
the eldest Princess whom I set free. You look like herds-women compared
with her, and the second Princess is also much prettier than you; but
the youngest, who is my sweetheart, is more beautiful than either sun
or moon. I wish to Heaven they were here, and then you would see them.’

Scarcely had he said this before they were standing by his side, but
then he was very sorrowful, for the words which they had said to him
came to his mind.

Up at the farm a great feast was made ready for the Princesses, and
much respect paid to them, but they would not stay there.

‘We want to go down to your parents,’ they said to Halvor, ‘so we will
go out and look about us.’

He followed them out, and they came to a large pond outside the
farm-house. Very near the water there was a pretty green bank, and
there the Princesses said they would sit down and while away an hour,
for they thought that it would be pleasant to sit and look out over the
water, they said.

There they sat down, and when they had sat for a short time the
youngest Princess said, ‘I may as well comb your hair a little,
Halvor.’

So Halvor laid his head down on her lap, and she combed it, and it was
not long before he fell asleep. Then she took her ring from him and put
another in its place, and then she said to her sisters: ‘Hold me as I
am holding you. I would that we were at Soria Moria Castle.’

When Halvor awoke he knew that he had lost the Princesses, and began to
weep and lament, and was so unhappy that he could not be comforted. In
spite of all his father’s and mother’s entreaties, he would not stay,
but bade them farewell, saying that he would never see them more, for
if he did not find the Princess again he did not think it worth while
to live.

He again had three hundred dollars, which he put into his pocket and
went on his way. When he had walked some distance he met a man with a
tolerably good horse. Halvor longed to buy it, and began to bargain
with the man.

‘Well, I have not exactly been thinking of selling him,’ said the man,
‘but if we could agree, perhaps——’

Halvor inquired how much he wanted to have for the horse.

‘I did not give much for him, and he is not worth much; he is a capital
horse to ride, but good for nothing at drawing; but he will always be
able to carry your bag of provisions and you too, if you walk and ride
by turns.’ At last they agreed about the price, and Halvor laid his bag
on the horse, and sometimes he walked and sometimes he rode. In the
evening he came to a green field, where stood a great tree, under which
he seated himself. Then he let the horse loose and lay down to sleep,
but before he did that he took his bag off the horse. At daybreak he
set off again, for he did not feel as if he could take any rest. So he
walked and rode the whole day, through a great wood where there were
many green places which gleamed very prettily among the trees. He did
not know where he was or whither he was going, but he never lingered
longer in any place than was enough to let his horse get a little food
when they came to one of these green spots, while he himself took out
his bag of provisions.

So he walked and he rode, and it seemed to him that the wood would
never come to an end. But on the evening of the second day he saw a
light shining through the trees.

‘If only there were some people up there I might warm myself and get
something to eat,’ thought Halvor.

When he got to the place where the light had come from, he saw a
wretched little cottage, and through a small pane of glass he saw a
couple of old folks inside. They were very old, and as grey-headed as a
pigeon, and the old woman had such a long nose that she sat in the
chimney corner and used it to stir the fire.

‘Good evening! good evening!’ said the old hag; ‘but what errand have
you that can bring you here? No Christian folk have been here for more
than a hundred years.’

So Halvor told her that he wanted to get to Soria Moria Castle, and
inquired if she knew the way thither.

‘No,’ said the old woman, ‘that I do not, but the Moon will be here
presently, and I will ask her, and she will know. She can easily see
it, for she shines on all things.’

So when the Moon stood clear and bright above the tree-tops the old
woman went out. ‘Moon! Moon!’ she screamed. ‘Canst thou tell me the way
to Soria Moria Castle?’

‘No,’ said the Moon, ‘that I can’t, for when I shone there, there was a
cloud before me.’

‘Wait a little longer,’ said the old woman to Halvor, ‘for the West
Wind will presently be here, and he will know it, for he breathes
gently or blows into every corner.’

‘What! have you a horse too?’ she said when she came in again. ‘Oh! let
the poor creature loose in our bit of fenced-in pasture, and don’t let
it stand there starving at our very door. But won’t you exchange him
with me? We have a pair of old boots here with which you can go fifteen
quarters of a mile at each step. You shall have them for the horse, and
then you will be able to get sooner to Soria Moria Castle.’

Halvor consented to this at once, and the old woman was so delighted
with the horse that she was ready to dance. ‘For now I, too, shall be
able to ride to church,’ she said. Halvor could take no rest, and
wanted to set off immediately; but the old woman said that there was no
need to hasten. ‘Lie down on the bench and sleep a little, for we have
no bed to offer you,’ said she, ‘and I will watch for the coming of the
West Wind.’

Ere long came the West Wind, roaring so loud that the walls creaked.

The old woman went out and cried:

‘West Wind! West Wind! Canst thou tell me the way to Soria Moria
Castle? Here is one who would go thither.’

‘Yes, I know it well,’ said the West Wind. ‘I am just on my way there
to dry the clothes for the wedding which is to take place. If he is
fleet of foot he can go with me.’

Out ran Halvor.

‘You will have to make haste if you mean to go with me,’ said the West
Wind; and away it went over hill and dale, and moor and morass, and
Halvor had enough to do to keep up with it.

‘Well, now I have no time to stay with you any longer,’ said the West
Wind, ‘for I must first go and tear down a bit of spruce fir before I
go to the bleaching-ground to dry the clothes; but just go along the
side of the hill, and you will come to some girls who are standing
there washing clothes, and then you will not have to walk far before
you are at Soria Moria Castle.’

Shortly afterwards Halvor came to the girls who were standing washing,
and they asked him if he had seen anything of the West Wind, who was to
come there to dry the clothes for the wedding.

‘Yes,’ said Halvor, ‘he has only gone to break down a bit of spruce
fir. It won’t be long before he is here.’ And then he asked them the
way to Soria Moria Castle. They put him in the right way, and when he
came in front of the castle it was so full of horses and people that it
swarmed with them. But Halvor was so ragged and torn with following the
West Wind through bushes and bogs that he kept on one side, and would
not go among the crowd until the last day, when the feast was to be
held at noon.

So when, as was the usage and custom, all were to drink to the bride
and the young girls who were present, the cup-bearer filled the cup for
each in turn, both bride and bridegroom, and knights and servants, and
at last, after a very long time, he came to Halvor. He drank their
health, and then slipped the ring which the Princess had put on his
finger when they were sitting by the waterside into the glass, and
ordered the cup-bearer to carry the glass to the bride from him and
greet her.

Then the Princess at once rose up from the table, and said, ‘Who is
most worthy to have one of us—he who has delivered us from the Trolls
or he who is sitting here as bridegroom?’

There could be but one opinion as to that, everyone thought, and when
Halvor heard what they said he was not long in flinging off his
beggar’s rags and arraying himself as a bridegroom.

‘Yes, he is the right one,’ cried the youngest Princess when she caught
sight of him; so she flung the other out of the window and held her
wedding with Halvor.[2]

 [2] From P. C. Asbjørnsen.




THE DEATH OF KOSHCHEI THE DEATHLESS


In a certain kingdom there lived a Prince Ivan. He had three sisters.
The first was the Princess Marya, the second the Princess Olga, the
third the Princess Anna. When their father and mother lay at the point
of death, they had thus enjoined their son: ‘Give your sisters in
marriage to the very first suitors who come to woo them. Don’t go
keeping them by you!’

They died, and the Prince buried them, and then, to solace his grief,
he went with his sisters into the garden green to stroll. Suddenly the
sky was covered by a black cloud; a terrible storm arose.

‘Let us go home, sisters!’ he cried.

Hardly had they got into the palace, when the thunder pealed, the
ceiling split open, and into the room where they were came flying a
falcon bright. The Falcon smote upon the ground, became a brave youth,
and said:

‘Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a
wooer! I wish to propose for your sister, the Princess Marya.’

‘If you find favour in the eyes of my sister, I will not interfere with
her wishes. Let her marry you, in God’s name!’

The Princess Marya gave her consent; the Falcon married her and bore
her away into his own realm.

Days follow days, hours chase hours; a whole year goes by. One day
Prince Ivan and his two sisters went out to stroll in the garden green.
Again there arose a storm-cloud, with whirlwind and lightning.

‘Let us go home, sisters!’ cries the Prince. Scarcely had they entered
the palace when the thunder crashed, the roof burst into a blaze, the
ceiling split in twain, and in flew an eagle. The Eagle smote upon the
ground and became a brave youth.

‘Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a
wooer!’

And he asked for the hand of the Princess Olga. Prince Ivan replied:

‘If you find favour in the eyes of the Princess Olga, then let her
marry you. I will not interfere with her liberty of choice.’

The Princess Olga gave her consent and married the Eagle. The Eagle
took her and carried her off to his own kingdom.

Another year went by. Prince Ivan said to his youngest sister:

‘Let us go out and stroll in the garden green!’

They strolled about for a time. Again there arose a storm-cloud, with
whirlwind and lightning.

‘Let us return home, sister!’ said he.

They returned home, but they hadn’t had time to sit down when the
thunder crashed, the ceiling split open, and in flew a raven. The Raven
smote upon the floor and became a brave youth. The former youths had
been handsome, but this one was handsomer still.

‘Well, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a
wooer! Give me the Princess Anna to wife.’

‘I won’t interfere with my sister’s freedom. If you gain her
affections, let her marry you.’

So the Princess Anna married the Raven, and he bore her away into his
own realm. Prince Ivan was left alone. A whole year he lived without
his sisters; then he grew weary, and said:

‘I will set out in search of my sisters.’

He got ready for the journey, he rode and rode, and one day he saw a
whole army lying dead on the plain. He cried aloud, ‘If there be a
living man there, let him make answer! Who has slain this mighty host?’

There replied unto him a living man:

‘All this mighty host has been slain by the fair Princess Marya
Morevna.’

Prince Ivan rode further on, and came to a white tent, and forth came
to meet him the fair Princess Marya Morevna.

‘Hail, Prince!’ says she; ‘whither does God send you? and is it of your
free will or against your will?’

Prince Ivan replied, ‘Not against their will do brave youths ride!’

‘Well, if your business be not pressing, tarry awhile in my tent.’

Thereat was Prince Ivan glad. He spent two nights in the tent, and he
found favour in the eyes of Marya Morevna, and she married him. The
fair Princess, Marya Morevna, carried him off into her own realm.

They spent some time together, and then the Princess took it into her
head to go a warring. So she handed over all the house-keeping affairs
to Prince Ivan, and gave him these instructions:

‘Go about everywhere, keep watch over everything; only do not venture
to look into that closet there.’

He couldn’t help doing so. The moment Marya Morevna had gone he rushed
to the closet, pulled open the door, and looked in—there hung Koshchei
the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Then Koshchei entreated
Prince Ivan, saying:

‘Have pity upon me and give me to drink! Ten years long have I been
here in torment, neither eating nor drinking; my throat is utterly
dried up.’

The Prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up and asked for
more, saying:

‘A single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give me more!’

The Prince gave him a second bucketful. Koshchei drank it up and asked
for a third, and when he had swallowed the third bucketful, he regained
his former strength, gave his chains a shake, and broke all twelve at
once.

‘Thanks, Prince Ivan!’ cried Koshchei the Deathless, ‘now you will
sooner see your own ears than Marya Morevna!’ and out of the window he
flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind. And he came up with the fair
Princess Marya Morevna as she was going her way, laid hold of her and
carried her off home with him. But Prince Ivan wept full sore, and he
arrayed himself and set out a-wandering, saying to himself, ‘Whatever
happens, I will go and look for Marya Morevna!’

One day passed, another day passed; at the dawn of the third day he saw
a wondrous palace, and by the side of the palace stood an oak, and on
the oak sat a falcon bright. Down flew the Falcon from the oak, smote
upon the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud:

‘Ha, dear brother-in-law! how deals the Lord with you?’

Out came running the Princess Marya, joyfully greeted her brother Ivan,
and began inquiring after his health, and telling him all about
herself. The Prince spent three days with them; then he said:

‘I cannot abide with you; I must go in search of my wife, the fair
Princess Marya Morevna.’

‘Hard will it be for you to find her,’ answered the Falcon. ‘At all
events leave with us your silver spoon. We will look at it and remember
you.’ So Prince Ivan left his silver spoon at the Falcon’s, and went on
his way again.

On he went one day, on he went another day, and by the dawn of the
third day he saw a palace still grander than the former one and hard by
the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat an eagle. Down flew the
Eagle from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth,
and cried aloud:

‘Rise up, Princess Olga! Hither comes our brother dear!’

The Princess Olga immediately ran to meet him, and began kissing him
and embracing him, asking after his health, and telling him all about
herself. With them Prince Ivan stopped three days; then he said:

‘I cannot stay here any longer. I am going to look for my wife, the
fair Princess Marya Morevna.’

‘Hard will it be for you to find her,’ replied the Eagle. ‘Leave with
us a silver fork. We will look at it and remember you.’

He left a silver fork behind, and went his way. He travelled one day,
he travelled two days; at daybreak on the third day he saw a palace
grander than the first two, and near the palace stood an oak, and on
the oak sat a raven. Down flew the Raven from the oak, smote upon the
ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud:

‘Princess Anna, come forth quickly! our brother is coming.’

Out ran the Princess Anna, greeted him joyfully, and began kissing and
embracing him, asking after his health and telling him all about
herself. Prince Ivan stayed with them three days; then he said:

‘Farewell! I am going to look for my wife, the fair Princess Marya
Morevna.’

‘Hard will it be for you to find her,’ replied the Raven. ‘Anyhow,
leave your silver snuff-box with us. We will look at it and remember
you.’

The Prince handed over his silver snuff-box, took his leave, and went
his way. One day he went, another day he went, and on the third day he
came to where Marya Morevna was. She caught sight of her love, flung
her arms around his neck, burst into tears, and exclaimed:

‘Oh, Prince Ivan! why did you disobey me and go looking into the closet
and letting out Koshchei the Deathless?’

‘Forgive me, Marya Morevna! Remember not the past; much better fly with
me while Koshchei the Deathless is out of sight. Perhaps he won’t catch
us.’

So they got ready and fled. Now Koshchei was out hunting. Towards
evening he was returning home, when his good steed stumbled beneath
him.

‘Why stumblest thou, sorry jade? Scentest thou some ill?’ The steed
replied:

‘Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna.’

‘Is it possible to catch them?’

‘It is possible to sow wheat, to wait till it grows up, to reap it and
thresh it, to grind it to flour, to make five pies of it, to eat those
pies, and then to start in pursuit—and even then to be in time.’
Koshchei galloped off and caught up Prince Ivan.

‘Now,’ says he, ‘this time I will forgive you, in return for your
kindness in giving me water to drink. And a second time I will forgive
you; but the third time beware! I will cut you to bits.’

Then he took Marya Morevna from him, and carried her off. But Prince
Ivan sat down on a stone and burst into tears. He wept and wept—and
then returned back again to Marya Morevna. Now Koshchei the Deathless
happened not to be at home.

‘Let us fly, Marya Morevna!’

‘Ah, Prince Ivan! he will catch us.’

‘Suppose he does catch us. At all events we shall have spent an hour or
two together.’

So they got ready and fled. As Koshchei the Deathless was returning
home, his good steed stumbled beneath him.

‘Why stumblest thou, sorry jade? Scentest thou some ill?’

‘Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna.’

‘Is it possible to catch them?’

‘It is possible to sow barley, to wait till it grows up, to reap it and
thresh it, to brew beer, to drink ourselves drunk on it, to sleep our
fill, and then to set off in pursuit—and yet to be in time.’

Koshchei galloped off, caught up Prince Ivan:

‘Didn’t I tell you that you should not see Marya Morevna any more than
your own ears?’

And he took her away and carried her off home with him.

Prince Ivan was left there alone. He wept and wept; then he went back
again after Marya Morevna. Koshchei happened to be away from home at
that moment.

‘Let us fly, Marya Morevna!’

‘Ah, Prince Ivan! he is sure to catch us and hew you in pieces.’

‘Let him hew away! I cannot live without you.

So they got ready and fled.

Koshchei the Deathless was returning home when his good steed stumbled
beneath him.

‘Why stumblest thou? Scentest thou any ill?’

‘Prince Ivan has come and has carried off Marya Morevna.’

Koshchei galloped off, caught Prince Ivan, chopped him into little
pieces, put them into a barrel, smeared it with pitch and bound it with
iron hoops, and flung it into the blue sea. But Marya Morevna he
carried off home.

At that very time the silver articles turned black which Prince Ivan
had left with his brothers-in-law.

‘Ah!’ said they, ‘the evil is accomplished sure enough!’

Then the Eagle hurried to the blue sea, caught hold of the barrel, and
dragged it ashore; the Falcon flew away for the Water of Life, and the
Raven for the Water of Death.

Afterwards they all three met, broke open the barrel, took out the
remains of Prince Ivan, washed them, and put them together in fitting
order. The Raven sprinkled them with the Water of Death—the pieces
joined together, the body became whole. The Falcon sprinkled it with
the Water of Life—Prince Ivan shuddered, stood up, and said:

‘Ah! what a time I’ve been sleeping!’

‘You’d have gone on sleeping a good deal longer if it hadn’t been for
us,’ replied his brothers-in-law. ‘Now come and pay us a visit.’

‘Not so, brothers; I shall go and look for Marya Morevna.’

And when he had found her, he said to her:

‘Find out from Koshchei the Deathless whence he got so good a steed.’

So Marya Morevna chose a favourable moment, and began asking Koshchei
about it. Koshchei replied:

‘Beyond thrice nine lands, in the thirtieth kingdom, on the other side
of the fiery river, there lives a Baba Yaga. She has so good a mare
that she flies right round the world on it every day. And she has many
other splendid mares. I watched her herds for three days without losing
a single mare, and in return for that the Baba Yaga gave me a foal.’

‘But how did you get across the fiery river?’

‘Why, I’ve a handkerchief of this kind—when I wave it thrice on the
right hand, there springs up a very lofty bridge, and the fire cannot
reach it.’

Marya Morevna listened to all this, and repeated it to Prince Ivan, and
she carried off the handkerchief and gave it to him. So he managed to
get across the fiery river, and then went on to the Baba Yaga’s. Long
went he on without getting anything either to eat or to drink. At last
he came across an outlandish bird and its young ones. Says Prince Ivan:

‘I’ll eat one of these chickens.’

‘Don’t eat it, Prince Ivan!’ begs the outlandish bird; ‘some time or
other I’ll do you a good turn.’

He went on farther and saw a hive of bees in the forest.

‘I’ll get a bit of honeycomb,’ says he.

‘Don’t disturb my honey, Prince Ivan!’ exclaims the queen-bee; ‘some
time or other I’ll do you a good turn.’

So he didn’t disturb it, but went on. Presently there met him a lioness
with her cub.

‘Anyhow, I’ll eat this lion cub,’ says he; ‘I’m so hungry I feel quite
unwell!’

‘Please let us alone, Prince Ivan!’ begs the lioness; ‘some time or
other I’ll do you a good turn.’

‘Very well; have it your own way,’ says he.

Hungry and faint he wandered on, walked farther and farther, and at
last came to where stood the house of the Baba Yaga. Round the house
were set twelve poles in a circle, and on each of eleven of these poles
was stuck a human head; the twelfth alone remained unoccupied.

‘Hail, granny!’

‘Hail, Prince Ivan! wherefore have you come? Is it of your own accord,
or on compulsion?’

‘I have come to earn from you an heroic steed.’

‘So be it, Prince! You won’t have to serve a year with me, but just
three days. If you take good care of my mares, I’ll give you an heroic
steed. But if you don’t—why, then you mustn’t be annoyed at finding
your head stuck on top of the last pole up there.’

Prince Ivan agreed to these terms. The Baba Yaga gave him food and
drink, and bade him set about his business. But the moment he had
driven the mares afield, they cocked up their tails, and away they tore
across the meadows in all directions. Before the Prince had time to
look round they were all out of sight. Thereupon he began to weep and
to disquiet himself, and then he sat down upon a stone and went to
sleep. But when the sun was near its setting the outlandish bird came
flying up to him, and awakened him, saying:

‘Arise, Prince Ivan! The mares are at home now.’

The Prince arose and returned home. There the Baba Yaga was storming
and raging at her mares, and shrieking:

‘Whatever did ye come home for?’

‘How could we help coming home?’ said they. ‘There came flying birds
from every part of the world, and all but pecked our eyes out.’

‘Well, well! to-morrow don’t go galloping over the meadows, but
disperse amid the thick forests.’

Prince Ivan slept all night. In the morning the Baba Yaga says to him:

‘Mind, Prince! if you don’t take good care of the mares, if you lose
merely one of them—your bold head will be stuck on that pole!’

He drove the mares afield. Immediately they cocked up their tails and
dispersed among the thick forests. Again did the Prince sit down on the
stone, weep and weep, and then go to sleep. The sun went down behind
the forest. Up came running the lioness.

‘Arise, Prince Ivan! The mares are all collected.’

Prince Ivan arose and went home. More than ever did the Baba Yaga storm
at her mares and shriek:

‘Whatever did ye come back home for?’

‘How could we help coming back? Beasts of prey came running at us from
all parts of the world, and all but tore us utterly to pieces.’

‘Well, to-morrow run off into the blue sea.’

Again did Prince Ivan sleep through the night. Next morning the Baba
Yaga sent him forth to watch the mares.

‘If you don’t take good care of them,’ says she, ‘your bold head will
be stuck on that pole!’

He drove the mares afield. Immediately they cocked up their tails,
disappeared from sight, and fled into the blue sea. There they stood,
up to their necks in water. Prince Ivan sat down on the stone, wept,
and fell asleep. But when the sun had set behind the forest, up came
flying a bee, and said:

‘Arise, Prince! The mares are all collected. But when you get home,
don’t let the Baba Yaga set eyes on you, but go into the stable and
hide behind the mangers. There you will find a sorry colt rolling in
the muck. Do you steal it, and at the dead of night ride away from the
house.’

Prince Ivan arose, slipped into the stable, and lay down behind the
mangers, while the Baba Yaga was storming away at her mares and
shrieking:

‘Why did ye come back?’

‘How could we help coming back? There came flying bees in countless
numbers from all parts of the world, and began stinging us on all sides
till the blood came!’

The Baba Yaga went to sleep. In the dead of the night Prince Ivan stole
the sorry colt, saddled it, jumped on its back, and galloped away to
the fiery river. When he came to that river he waved the handkerchief
three times on the right hand, and suddenly, springing goodness knows
whence, there hung across the river, high in the air, a splendid
bridge. The Prince rode across the bridge and waved the handkerchief
twice only on the left hand; there remained across the river a thin,
ever so thin a bridge!

When the Baba Yaga got up in the morning the sorry colt was not to be
seen! Off she set in pursuit. At full speed did she fly in her iron
mortar, urging it on with the pestle, sweeping away her traces with the
broom. She dashed up to the fiery river, gave a glance, and said, ‘A
capital bridge!’ She drove on to the bridge, but had only got half-way
when the bridge broke in two, and the Baba Yaga went flop into the
river. There truly did she meet with a cruel death!

Prince Ivan fattened up the colt in the green meadows, and it turned
into a wondrous steed. Then he rode to where Marya Morevna was. She
came running out, and flung herself on his neck, crying:

‘By what means has God brought you back to life?’

‘Thus and thus,’ says he. ‘Now come along with me.’

‘I am afraid, Prince Ivan! If Koshchei catches us you will be cut in
pieces again.’

‘No, he won’t catch us! I have a splendid heroic steed now; it flies
just like a bird.’ So they got on its back and rode away.

Koshchei the Deathless was returning home when his horse stumbled
beneath him.

‘What art thou stumbling for, sorry jade? Dost thou scent any ill?’

‘Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna.’

‘Can we catch them?’

‘God knows! Prince Ivan has a horse now which is better than I.’

‘Well, I can’t stand it,’ says Koshchei the Deathless. ‘I will pursue.’

After a time he came up with Prince Ivan, lighted on the ground, and
was going to chop him up with his sharp sword. But at that moment
Prince Ivan’s horse smote Koshchei the Deathless full swing with its
hoof, and cracked his skull, and the Prince made an end of him with a
club. Afterwards the Prince heaped up a pile of wood, set fire to it,
burnt Koshchei the Deathless on the pyre, and scattered his ashes to
the wind. Then Marya Morevna mounted Koshchei’s horse and Prince Ivan
got on his own, and they rode away to visit first the Raven, and then
the Eagle, and then the Falcon. Wherever they went they met with a
joyful greeting.

‘Ah, Prince Ivan! why, we never expected to see you again. Well, it
wasn’t for nothing that you gave yourself so much trouble. Such a
beauty as Marya Morevna one might search for all the world over—and
never find one like her!’

And so they visited, and they feasted; and afterwards they went off to
their own realm.[3]

 [3] Ralston.




THE BLACK THIEF AND KNIGHT OF THE GLEN.


In times of yore there was a King and a Queen in the south of Ireland
who had three sons, all beautiful children; but the Queen, their
mother, sickened unto death when they were yet very young, which caused
great grief throughout the Court, particularly to the King, her
husband, who could in no wise be comforted. Seeing that death was
drawing near her, she called the King to her and spoke as follows:

‘I am now going to leave you, and as you are young and in your prime,
of course after my death you will marry again. Now all the request I
ask of you is that you will build a tower in an island in the sea,
wherein you will keep your three sons until they are come of age and
fit to do for themselves; so that they may not be under the power or
jurisdiction of any other woman. Neglect not to give them education
suitable to their birth, and let them be trained up to every exercise
and pastime requisite for king’s sons to learn. This is all I have to
say, so farewell.’

The King had scarce time, with tears in his eyes, to assure her she
should be obeyed in everything, when she, turning herself in her bed,
with a smile gave up the ghost. Never was greater mourning seen than
was throughout the Court and the whole kingdom; for a better woman than
the Queen, to rich and poor, was not to be found in the world. She was
interred with great pomp and magnificence, and the King, her husband,
became in a manner inconsolable for the loss of her. However, he caused
the tower to be built and his sons placed in it, under proper
guardians, according to his promise.

In process of time the lords and knights of the kingdom counselled the
King (as he was young) to live no longer as he had done, but to take a
wife; which counsel prevailing, they chose him a rich and beautiful
princess to be his consort—a neighbouring King’s daughter, of whom he
was very fond. Not long after, the Queen had a fine son, which caused
great feasting and rejoicing at the Court, insomuch that the late
Queen, in a manner, was entirely forgotten. That fared well, and King
and Queen lived happy together for several years.

At length the Queen, having some business with the hen-wife, went
herself to her, and, after a long conference passed, was taking leave
of her, when the hen-wife prayed that if ever she should come back to
her again she might break her neck. The Queen, greatly incensed at such
a daring insult from one of her meanest subjects, demanded immediately
the reason, or she would have her put to death.

‘It was worth your while, madam,’ says the hen-wife, ‘to pay me well
for it, for the reason I prayed so on you concerns you much.’

‘What must I pay you?’ asked the Queen.

‘You must give me,’ says she, ‘the full of a pack of wool, and I have
an ancient crock which you must fill with butter, likewise a barrel
which you must fill for me full of wheat.’

‘How much wool will it take to the pack?’ says the Queen.

‘It will take seven herds of sheep,’ said she, ‘and their increase for
seven years.’

‘How much butter will it take to fill your crock?’

‘Seven dairies,’ said she, ‘and their increase for seven years.’

‘And how much will it take to fill the barrel you have?’ says the
Queen.

‘It will take the increase of seven barrels of wheat for seven years.’

‘That is a great quantity,’ says the Queen; ‘but the reason must be
extraordinary, and before I want it, I will give you all you demand.’

‘Well,’ says the hen-wife, ‘it is because you are so stupid that you
don’t observe or find out those affairs that are so dangerous and
hurtful to yourself and your child.’

‘What is that?’ says the Queen.

‘Why,’ says she, ‘the King your husband has three fine sons he had by
the late Queen, whom he keeps shut up in a tower until they come of
age, intending to divide the kingdom between them, and let your son
push his fortune; now, if you don’t find some means of destroying them;
your child and perhaps yourself will be left desolate in the end.’

‘And what would you advise me to do?’ said she; ‘I am wholly at a loss
in what manner to act in this affair.’

‘You must make known to the King,’ says the hen-wife, ‘that you heard
of his sons, and wonder greatly that he concealed them all this time
from you; tell him you wish to see them, and that it is full time for
them to be liberated, and that you would be desirous he would bring
them to the Court. The King will then do so, and there will be a great
feast prepared on that account, and also diversions of every sort to
amuse the people; and in these sports,’ said she, ‘ask the King’s sons
to play a game at cards with you, which they will not refuse. Now,’
says the hen-wife, ‘you must make a bargain, that if you win they must
do whatever you command them, and if they win, that you must do
whatever they command you to do; this bargain must be made before the
assembly, and here is a pack of cards,’ says she, ‘that I am thinking
you will not lose by.’

The Queen immediately took the cards, and, after returning the hen-wife
thanks for her kind instruction, went back to the palace, where she was
quite uneasy until she got speaking to the King in regard of his
children; at last she broke it off to him in a very polite and engaging
manner, so that he could see no muster or design in it. He readily
consented to her desire, and his sons were sent for to the tower, who
gladly came to Court, rejoicing that they were freed from such
confinement. They were all very handsome, and very expert in all arts
and exercises, so that they gained the love and esteem of all that had
seen them.

The Queen, more jealous with them than ever, thought it an age until
all the feasting and rejoicing was over, that she might get making her
proposal, depending greatly on the power of the hen-wife’s cards. At
length this royal assembly began to sport and play at all kinds of
diversions, and the Queen very cunningly challenged the three Princes
to play at cards with her, making bargain with them as she had been
instructed.

They accepted the challenge, and the eldest son and she played the
first game, which she won; then the second son played, and she won that
game likewise; the third son and she then played the last game, and he
won it, which sorely grieved her that she had not him in her power as
well as the rest, being by far the handsomest and most beloved of the
three.

However, everyone was anxious to hear the Queen’s commands in regard to
the two Princes, not thinking that she had any ill design in her head
against them. Whether it was the hen-wife instructed her, or whether it
was from her own knowledge, I cannot tell; but she gave out they must
go and bring her the Knight of the Glen’s wild Steed of Bells, or they
should lose their heads.

The young Princes were not in the least concerned, not knowing what
they had to do; but the whole Court was amazed at her demand, knowing
very well that it was impossible for them ever to get the steed, as all
that ever sought him perished in the attempt. However, they could not
retract the bargain, and the youngest Prince was desired to tell what
demand he had on the Queen, as he had won his game.

‘My brothers,’ says he, ‘are now going to travel, and, as I understand,
a perilous journey wherein they know not what road to take or what may
happen them. I am resolved, therefore, not to stay here, but to go with
them, let what will betide; and I request and command, according to my
bargain, that the Queen shall stand on the highest tower of the palace
until we come back (or find out that we are certainly dead), with
nothing but sheaf corn for her food and cold water for her drink, if it
should be for seven years and longer.’

All things being now fixed, the three princes departed the Court in
search of the Knight of the Glen’s palace, and travelling along the
road they came up with a man who was a little lame, and seemed to be
somewhat advanced in years; they soon fell into discourse, and the
youngest of the princes asked the stranger his name, or what was the
reason he wore so remarkable a black cap as he saw on him.

‘I am called,’ said he, ‘the Thief of Sloan, and sometimes the Black
Thief from my cap; ‘and so telling the prince the most of his
adventures, he asked him again where they were bound for, or what they
were about.

The prince, willing to gratify his request, told him their affairs from
the beginning to the end. ‘And now,’ said he, ‘we are travelling, and
do not know whether we are on the right road or not.’

‘Ah! my brave fellows,’ says the Black Thief, ‘you little know the
danger you run. I am after that steed myself these seven years, and can
never steal him on account of a silk covering he has on him in the
stable, with sixty bells fixed to it, and whenever you approach the
place he quickly observes it and shakes himself; which, by the sound of
the bells, not only alarms the prince and his guards, but the whole
country round, so that it is impossible ever to get him, and those that
are so unfortunate as to be taken by the Knight of the Glen are boiled
in a red-hot fiery furnace.’

‘Bless me,’ says the young prince, ‘what will we do? If we return
without the steed we will lose our heads, so I see we are ill fixed on
both sides.’

‘Well,’ says the Thief of Sloan, ‘if it were my case I would rather die
by the Knight than by the wicked Queen; besides, I will go with you
myself and show you the road, and whatever fortune you will have, I
will take chance of the same.’

They returned him sincere thanks for his kindness, and he, being well
acquainted with the road, in a short time brought them within view of
the knight’s castle.

‘Now,’ says he, ‘we must stay here till night comes; for I know all the
ways of the place, and if there be any chance for it, it is when they
are all at rest; for the steed is all the watch the knight keeps
there.’

Accordingly, in the dead hour of the night, the King’s three sons and
the Thief of Sloan attempted the Steed of Bells in order to carry him
away, but before they could reach the stables the steed neighed most
terribly and shook himself so, and the bells rung with such noise, that
the knight and all his men were up in a moment.

The Black Thief and the King’s sons thought to make their escape, but
they were suddenly surrounded by the knight’s guards and taken
prisoners; where they were brought into that dismal part of the palace
where the knight kept a furnace always boiling, in which he threw all
offenders that ever came in his way, which in a few moments would
entirely consume them.

‘Audacious villains!’ says the Knight of the Glen, ‘how dare you
attempt so bold an action as to steal my steed? See, now, the reward of
your folly; for your greater punishment I will not boil you all
together, but one after the other, so that he that survives may witness
the dire afflictions of his unfortunate companions.’

So saying he ordered his servants to stir up the fire: ‘We will boil
the eldest-looking of these young men first,’ said he, ‘and so on to
the last, which will be this old champion with the black cap. He seems
to be the captain, and looks as if he had come through many toils.’

‘I was as near death once as the prince is yet,’ says the Black Thief,
‘and escaped; and so will he too.’

‘No, you never were,’ said the knight; ‘for he is within two or three
minutes of his latter end.’

‘But,’ says the Black Thief, ‘I was within one moment of my death, and
I am here yet.’

‘How was that?’ says the knight; ‘I would be glad to hear it, for it
seems impossible.’

‘If you think, sir knight,’ says the Black Thief, ‘that the danger I
was in surpasses that of this young man, will you pardon him his
crime?’

‘I will,’ says the knight, ‘so go on with your story.’

‘I was, sir,’ says he, ‘a very wild boy in my youth, and came through
many distresses; once in particular, as I was on my rambling, I was
benighted and could find no lodging. At length I came to an old kiln,
and being much fatigued I went up and lay on the ribs. I had not been
long there when I saw three witches coming in with three bags of gold.
Each put their bags of gold under their heads, as if to sleep. I heard
one of them say to the other that if the Black Thief came on them while
they slept, he would not leave them a penny. I found by their discourse
that everybody had got my name into their mouth, though I kept silent
as death during their discourse. At length they fell fast asleep, and
then I stole softly down, and seeing some turf convenient, I placed one
under each of their heads, and off I went, with their gold, as fast as
I could.

‘I had not gone far,’ continued the Thief of Sloan, ‘until I saw a
grey-hound, a hare, and a hawk in pursuit of me, and began to think it
must be the witches that had taken the shapes in order that I might not
escape them unseen either by land or water. Seeing they did not appear
in any formidable shape, I was more than once resolved to attack them,
thinking that with my broad sword I could easily destroy them. But
considering again that it was perhaps still in their power to become
alive again, I gave over the attempt and climbed with difficulty up a
tree, bringing my sword in my hand and all the gold along with me.
However, when they came to the tree they found what I had done, and
making further use of their hellish art, one of them was changed into a
smith’s anvil and another into a piece of iron, of which the third soon
made a hatchet. Having the hatchet made, she fell to cutting down the
tree, and in the course of an hour it began to shake with me. At length
it began to bend, and I found that one or two blows at the most would
put it down. I then began to think that my death was inevitable,
considering that those who were capable of doing so much would soon end
my life; but just as she had the stroke drawn that would terminate my
fate, the cock crew, and the witches disappeared, having resumed their
natural shapes for fear of being known, and I got safe off with my bags
of gold.

‘Now, sir,’ says he to the Knight of the Glen, ‘if that be not as great
an adventure as ever you heard, to be within one blow of a hatchet of
my end, and that blow even drawn, and after all to escape, I leave it
to yourself.’

‘Well, I cannot say but it is very extraordinary,’ says the Knight of
the Glen, ‘and on that account pardon this young man his crime; so stir
up the fire, till I boil this second one.’

‘Indeed,’ says the Black Thief, ‘I would fain think he would not die
this time either.’

‘How so?’ says the knight; ‘it is impossible for him to escape.’

‘I escaped death more wonderfully myself,’ says the Thief of Sloan,
‘than if you had him ready to throw into the furnace, and I hope it
will be the case with him likewise.’

‘Why, have you been in another great danger?’ says the knight. ‘I would
be glad to hear the story too, and if it be as wonderful as the last, I
will pardon this young man as I did the other.’

‘My way of living, sir,’ says the Black Thief, ‘was not good, as I told
you before; and being at a certain time fairly run out of cash, and
meeting with no enterprise worthy of notice, I was reduced to great
straits. At length a rich bishop died in the neighbourhood I was then
in, and I heard he was interred with a great deal of jewels and rich
robes upon him, all which I intended in a short time to be master of.
Accordingly that very night I set about it, and coming to the place, I
understood he was placed at the further end of a long dark vault, which
I slowly entered. I had not gone in far until I heard a foot coming
towards me with a quick pace, and although naturally bold and daring,
yet, thinking of the deceased bishop and the crime I was engaged in, I
lost courage, and ran towards the entrance of the vault. I had
retreated but a few paces when I observed, between me and the light,
the figure of a tall black man standing in the entrance. Being in great
fear and not knowing how to pass, I fired a pistol at him, and he
immediately fell across the entrance. Perceiving he still retained the
figure of a mortal man, I began to imagine that it could not be the
bishop’s ghost; recovering myself therefore from the fear I was in, I
ventured to the upper end of the vault, where I found a large bundle,
and upon further examination I found that the corpse was already
rifled, and that which I had taken to be a ghost was no more than one
of his own clergy. I was then very sorry that I had the misfortune to
kill him, but it then could not be helped. I took up the bundle that
contained everything belonging to the corpse that was valuable,
intending to take my departure from this melancholy abode; but just as
I came to the mouth of the entrance I saw the guards of the place
coming towards me, and distinctly heard them saying that they would
look in the vault, for that the Black Thief would think little of
robbing the corpse if he was anywhere in the place. I did not then know
in what manner to act, for if I was seen I would surely lose my life,
as everybody had a look-out at that time, and because there was no
person bold enough to come in on me. I knew very well on the first
sight of me that could be got, I would be shot like a dog. However, I
had not time to lose. I took and raised up the man which I had killed,
as if he was standing on his feet, and I, crouching behind him, bore
him up as well as I could, so that the guards readily saw him as they
came up to the vault. Seeing the man in black, one of the men cried
that was the Black Thief, and, presenting his piece, fired at the man,
at which I let him fall, and crept into a little dark corner myself,
that was at the entrance of the place. When they saw the man fall, they
ran all into the vault, and never stopped until they were at the end of
it, for fear, as I thought, that there might be some others along with
him that was killed. But while they were busy inspecting the corpse and
the vault to see what they could miss, I slipped out, and, once away,
and still away; but they never had the Black Thief in their power
since.’

‘Well, my brave fellow,’ says the Knight of the Glen, ‘I see you have
come through many dangers: you have freed these two princes by your
stories; but I am sorry myself that this young prince has to suffer for
all. Now, if you could tell me something as wonderful as you have told
already, I would pardon him likewise; I pity this youth and do not want
to put him to death if I could help it.’

‘That happens well,’ says the Thief of Sloan, ‘for I like him best
myself, and have reserved the most curious passage for the last on his
account.’

‘Well, then,’ says the knight, ‘let us hear it.’

‘I was one day on my travels,’ says the Black Thief, ‘and I came into a
large forest, where I wandered a long time, and could not get out of
it. At length I came to a large castle, and fatigue obliged me to call
in the same, where I found a young woman and a child sitting on her
knee, and she crying. I asked her what made her cry, and where the lord
of the castle was, for I wondered greatly that I saw no stir of
servants or any person about the place.

‘“It is well for you,” says the young woman, “that the lord of this
castle is not at home at present; for he is a monstrous giant, with but
one eye on his forehead, who lives on human flesh. He brought me this
child,” says she, “I do not know where he got it, and ordered me to
make it into a pie, and I cannot help crying at the command.”

‘I told her that if she knew of any place convenient that I could leave
the child safely I would do it, rather than it should be killed by such
a monster.

‘She told me of a house a distance off where I would get a woman who
would take care of it. “But what will I do in regard of the pie?”

‘“Cut a finger off it,” said I, “and I will bring you in a young wild
pig out of the forest, which you may dress as if it was the child, and
put the finger in a certain place, that if the giant doubts anything
about it you may know where to turn it over at the first, and when he
sees it he will be fully satisfied that the pie is made of the child.”

‘She agreed to the scheme I proposed, and, cutting off the child’s
finger, by her direction I soon had it at the house she told me of, and
brought her the little pig in the place of it. She then made ready the
pie, and after eating and drinking heartily myself, I was just taking
my leave of the young woman when we observed the giant coming through
the castle gates.

‘“Bless me,” said she, “what will you do now? Run away and lie down
among the dead bodies that he has in the room (showing me the place),
and strip off your clothes that he may not know you from the rest if he
has occasion to go that way.”

‘I took her advice, and laid myself down among the rest, as if dead, to
see how he would behave. The first thing I heard was him calling for
his pie. When she set it down before him he swore it smelled like
swine’s flesh, but knowing where to find the finger, she immediately
turned it up, which fairly convinced him of the contrary. The pie only
served to sharpen his appetite, and I heard him sharpening his knife
and saying he must have a collop or two, for he was not near satisfied.
But what was my terror when I heard the giant groping among the bodies,
and, fancying myself, cut the half of my hip off, and took it with him
to be roasted. You may be certain I was in great pain, but the fear of
being killed prevented me from making any complaint. However, when he
had eaten all he began to drink hot liquors in great abundance, so that
in a short time he could not hold up his head, but threw himself on a
large creel he had made for the purpose, and fell fast asleep. When I
heard him snoring, as I was I went up and caused the woman to bind my
wound with a handkerchief; and, taking the giant’s spit, reddened it in
the fire, and ran it through the eye, but was not able to kill him.

‘However, I left the spit sticking in his head, and took to my heels;
but I soon found he was in pursuit of me, although blind; and having an
enchanted ring he threw it at me, and it fell on my big toe and
remained fastened to it.

‘The giant then called to the ring, where it was, and to my great
surprise it made him answer on my foot; and he, guided by the same,
made a leap at me which I had the good luck to observe, and fortunately
escaped the danger. However, I found running was of no use in saving
me, as long as I had the ring on my foot; so I took my sword and cut
off the toe it was fastened on, and threw both into a large fish-pond
that was convenient. The giant called again to the ring, which by the
power of enchantment always made him answer; but he, not knowing what I
had done, imagined it was still on some part of me, and made a violent
leap to seize me, when he went into the pond, over head and ears, and
was drowned. Now, sir knight,’ says the Thief of Sloan, ‘you see what
dangers I came through and always escaped; but, indeed, I am lame for
the want of my toe ever since.’

‘My lord and master,’ says an old woman that was listening all the
time, ‘that story is but too true, as I well know, for I am the very
woman that was in the giant’s castle, and you, my lord, the child that
I was to make into a pie; and this is the very man that saved your
life, which you may know by the want of your finger that was taken off,
as you have heard, to deceive the giant.’

The Knight of the Glen, greatly surprised at what he had heard the old
woman tell, and knowing he wanted his finger from his childhood, began
to understand that the story was true enough.

‘And is this my deliverer?’ says he. ‘O brave fellow, I not only pardon
you all, but will keep you with myself while you live, where you shall
feast like princes, and have every attendance that I have myself.’

They all returned thanks on their knees, and the Black Thief told him
the reason they attempted to steal the Steed of Bells, and the
necessity they were under in going home.

‘Well,’ says the Knight of the Glen, ‘if that’s the case I bestow you
my steed rather than this brave fellow should die; so you may go when
you please, only remember to call and see me betimes, that we may know
each other well.’

They promised they would, and with great joy they set off for the King
their father’s palace, and the Black Thief along with them.

The wicked Queen was standing all this time on the tower, and, hearing
the bells ringing at a great distance off, knew very well it was the
princes coming home, and the steed with them, and through spite and
vexation precipitated herself from the tower and was shattered to
pieces.

The three princes lived happy and well during their father’s reign, and
always keeping the Black Thief along with them; but how they did after
the old King’s death is not known.[4]

 [4] The Hibernian Tales.




THE MASTER THIEF


There was once upon a time a husbandman who had three sons. He had no
property to bequeath to them, and no means of putting them in the way
of getting a living, and did not know what to do, so he said that they
had his leave to take to anything they most fancied, and go to any
place they best liked. He would gladly accompany them for some part of
their way, he said, and that he did. He went with them till they came
to a place where three roads met, and there each of them took his own
way, and the father bade them farewell and returned to his own home
again. What became of the two elder I have never been able to discover,
but the youngest went both far and wide.

It came to pass, one night, as he was going through a great wood, that
a terrible storm came on. It blew so hard and rained so heavily that he
could scarcely keep his eyes open, and before he was aware of it he had
got quite out of the track, and could neither find road nor path. But
he went on, and at last he saw a light far away in the wood. Then he
thought he must try and get to it, and after a long, long time he did
reach it. There was a large house, and the fire was burning so brightly
inside that he could tell that the people were not in bed. So he went
in, and inside there was an old woman who was busy about some work.

‘Good evening, mother!’ said the youth.

‘Good evening!’ said the old woman.

‘Hutetu! it is terrible weather outside to-night,’ said the young
fellow.

‘Indeed it is,’ said the old woman.

‘Can I sleep here, and have shelter for the night?’ asked the youth.

‘It wouldn’t be good for you to sleep here,’ said the old hag, ‘for if
the people of the house come home and find you, they will kill both you
and me.’

‘What kind of people are they then, who dwell here?’ said the youth.

‘Oh! robbers, and rabble of that sort,’ said the old woman; ‘they stole
me away when I was little, and I have had to keep house for them ever
since.’

‘I still think I will go to bed, all the same,’ said the youth. ‘No
matter what happens, I’ll not go out to-night in such weather as this.’

‘Well, then, it will be the worse for yourself,’ said the old woman.

The young man lay down in a bed which stood near, but he dared not go
to sleep: and it was better that he didn’t, for the robbers came, and
the old woman said that a young fellow who was a stranger had come
there, and she had not been able to get him to go away again.

‘Did you see if he had any money?’ said the robbers.

‘He’s not one to have money, he is a tramp! If he has a few clothes to
his back, that is all.’

Then the robbers began to mutter to each other apart about what they
should do with him, whether they should murder him, or what else they
should do. In the meantime the boy got up and began to talk to them,
and ask them if they did not want a man-servant, for he could find
pleasure enough in serving them.

‘Yes,’ said they, ‘if you have a mind to take to the trade that we
follow, you may have a place here.’

‘It’s all the same to me what trade I follow,’ said the youth, ‘for
when I came away from home my father gave me leave to take to any trade
I fancied.’

‘Have you a fancy for stealing, then?’ said the robbers.

‘Yes,’ said the boy, for he thought that was a trade which would not
take long to learn.

Not very far off there dwelt a man who had three oxen, one of which he
was to take to the town to sell. The robbers had heard of this, so they
told the youth that if he were able to steal the ox from him on the
way, without his knowing, and without doing him any harm, he should
have leave to be their servant-man. So the youth set off, taking with
him a pretty shoe with a silver buckle that was lying about in the
house. He put this in the road by which the man must go with his ox,
and then went into the wood and hid himself under a bush. When the man
came up he at once saw the shoe.

‘That’s a brave shoe,’ said he. ‘If I had but the fellow to it, I would
carry it home with me, and then I should put my old woman into a good
humour for once.’

For he had a wife who was so cross and ill-tempered that the time
between the beatings she gave him was very short. But then he bethought
himself that he could do nothing with one shoe if he had not the fellow
to it, so he journeyed onwards and let it lie where it was. Then the
youth picked up the shoe and hurried off away through the wood as fast
as he was able, to get in front of the man, and then put the shoe in
the road before him again.

When the man came with the ox and saw the shoe, he was quite vexed at
having been so stupid as to leave the fellow to it lying where it was,
instead of bringing it on with him.

‘I will just run back again and fetch it now,’ he said to himself, ‘and
then I shall take back a pair of good shoes to the old woman, and she
may perhaps throw a kind word to me for once.’

So he went and searched and searched for the other shoe for a long,
long time, but no shoe was to be found, and at last he was forced to go
back with the one which he had.

In the meantime the youth had taken the ox and gone off with it. When
the man got there and found that his ox was gone, he began to weep and
wail, for he was afraid that when his old woman got to know she would
be the death of him. But all at once it came into his head to go home
and get the other ox, and drive it to the town, and take good care that
his old wife knew nothing about it. So he did this; he went home and
took the ox without his wife’s knowing about it, and went on his way to
the town with it. But the robbers they knew it well, because they got
out their magic. So they told the youth that if he could take this ox
also without the man knowing anything about it, and without doing him
any hurt, he should then be on an equality with them.

‘Well, that will not be a very hard thing to do,’ thought the youth.

This time he took with him a rope and put it under his arms and tied
himself up to a tree, which hung over the road that the man would have
to take. So the man came with his ox, and when he saw the body hanging
there he felt a little queer.

‘What a hard lot yours must have been to make you hang yourself!’ said
he. ‘Ah, well! you may hang there for me; I can’t breathe life into you
again.’

So on he went with his ox. Then the youth sprang down from the tree,
ran by a short cut and got before him, and once more hung himself up on
a tree in the road before the man.

‘How I should like to know if you really were so sick at heart that you
hanged yourself there, or if it is only a hobgoblin that’s before me!’
said the man. ‘Ah, well! you may hang there for me, whether you are a
hobgoblin or not,’ and on he went with his ox.

Once more the youth did just as he had done twice already; jumped down
from the tree, ran by a short cut through the wood, and again hanged
himself in the very middle of the road before him.

But when the man once more saw this he said to himself, ‘What a bad
business this is! Can they all have been so heavy-hearted that they
have all three hanged themselves? No, I can’t believe that it is
anything but witchcraft! But I will know the truth,’ he said; ‘if the
two others are still hanging there it is true but if they are not it’s
nothing else but witchcraft.’

So he tied up his ox and ran back to see if they really were hanging
there. While he was going, and looking up at every tree as he went, the
youth leapt down and took his ox and went off with it. Any one may
easily imagine what a fury the man fell into when he came back and saw
that his ox was gone. He wept and he raged, but at last he took comfort
and told himself that the best thing to do was to go home and take the
third ox, without letting his wife know anything about it, and then try
to sell it so well that he got a good sum of money for it. So he went
home and took the third ox, and drove it off without his wife knowing
anything about it. But the robbers knew all about it, and they told the
youth that if he could steal this as he had stolen the two others, he
should be master of the whole troop. So the youth set out and went to
the wood, and when the man was coming along with the ox he began to
bellow loudly, just like a great ox somewhere inside the wood. When the
man heard that he was right glad, for he fancied he recognised the
voice of his big bullock, and thought that now he should find both of
them again. So he tied up the third, and ran away off the road to look
for them in the wood. In the meantime the youth went away with the
third ox. When the man returned and found that he had lost that too, he
fell into such a rage that there was no bounds to it. He wept and
lamented, and for many days he did not dare to go home again, for he
was afraid that the old woman would slay him outright. The robbers,
also, were not very well pleased at this, for they were forced to own
that the youth was at the head of them all. So one day they made up
their minds to set to work to do something which it was not in his
power to accomplish, and they all took to the road together, and left
him at home alone. When they were well out of the house, the first
thing that he did was to drive the oxen out on the road, whereupon they
all ran home again to the man from whom he had stolen them, and right
glad was the husbandman to see them. Then he brought out all the horses
the robbers had, and loaded them with the most valuable things which he
could find—vessels of gold and of silver, and clothes and other
magnificent things—and then he told the old woman to greet the robbers
from him and thank them from him, and say that he had gone away, and
that they would have a great deal of difficulty in finding him again,
and with that he drove the horses out of the courtyard. After a long,
long time he came to the road on which he was travelling when he came
to the robbers. And when he had got very near home, and was in sight of
the house where his father lived, he put on a uniform which he had
found among the things he had taken from the robbers, and which was
made just like a general’s, and drove into the yard just as if he were
a great man. Then he entered the house and asked if he could find a
lodging there.

‘No, indeed you can’t!’ said his father. ‘How could I possibly be able
to lodge such a great gentleman as you? It is all that I can do to find
clothes and bedding for myself, and wretched they are.’

‘You were always a hard man,’ said the youth, ‘and hard you are still
if you refuse to let your own son come into your house.’

‘Are you my son?’ said the man.

‘Do you not know me again then?’ said the youth.

Then he recognised him and said, ‘But what trade have you taken to that
has made you such a great man in so short a time?’

‘Oh, that I will tell you,’ answered the youth. ‘You said that I might
take to anything I liked, so I apprenticed myself to some thieves and
robbers, and now I have served my time and have become Master Thief.’

Now the Governor of the province lived by his father’s cottage, and
this Governor had such a large house and so much money that he did not
even know how much it was, and he had a daughter too who was both
pretty and dainty, and good and wise. So the Master Thief was
determined to have her to wife, and told his father that he was to go
to the Governor, and ask for his daughter for him. ‘If he asks what
trade I follow, you may say that I am a Master Thief,’ said he.

‘I think you must be crazy,’ said the man, ‘for you can’t be in your
senses if you think of anything so foolish.’

‘You must go to the Governor and beg for his daughter—there is no
help,’ said the youth.

‘But I dare not go to the Governor and say this. He is so rich and has
so much wealth of all kinds,’ said the man.

‘There is no help for it,’ said the Master Thief; ‘go you must, whether
you like it or not. If I can’t get you to go by using good words, I
will soon make you go with bad ones.’

But the man was still unwilling, so the Master Thief followed him,
threatening him with a great birch stick, till he went weeping and
wailing through the door to the Governor of the province.

‘Now, my man, and what’s amiss with you?’ said the Governor.

So he told him that he had three sons who had gone away one day, and
how he had given them permission to go where they chose, and take to
whatsoever work they fancied. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘the youngest of them has
come home, and has threatened me till I have come to you to ask for
your daughter for him, and I am to say that he is a Master Thief,’ and
again the man fell a-weeping and lamenting.

‘Console yourself, my man,’ said the Governor, laughing. ‘You may tell
him from me that he must first give me some proof of this. If he can
steal the joint off the spit in the kitchen on Sunday, when every one
of us is watching it, he shall have my daughter. Will you tell him
that?’

The man did tell him, and the youth thought it would be easy enough to
do it. So he set himself to work to catch three hares alive, put them
in a bag, clad himself in some old rags so that he looked so poor and
wretched that it was quite pitiable to see him, and in this guise on
Sunday forenoon he sneaked into the passage with his bag, like any
beggar boy. The Governor himself and every one in the house was in the
kitchen, keeping watch over the joint. While they were doing this the
youth let one of the hares slip out of his bag, and off it set and
began to run round the yard.

‘Just look at that hare,’ said the people in the kitchen, and wanted to
go out and catch it.

The Governor saw it too, but said, ‘Oh, let it go! it’s no use to think
of catching a hare when it’s running away.’

It was not long before the youth let another hare out, and the people
in the kitchen saw this too, and thought that it was the same. So again
they wanted to go out and catch it, but the Governor again told them
that it was of no use to try.

Very soon afterwards, however, the youth let slip the third hare, and
it set off and ran round and round the courtyard. The people in the
kitchen saw this too, and believed that it was still the same hare that
was running about, so they wanted to go out and catch it.

‘It’s a remarkably fine hare!’ said the Governor. ‘Come and let us see
if we can get hold of it.’ So out he went, and the others with him, and
away went the hare, and they after it, in real earnest.

In the meantime, however, the Master Thief took the joint and ran off
with it, and whether the Governor got any roast meat for his dinner
that day I know not, but I know that he had no roast hare, though he
chased it till he was both hot and tired. At noon came the Priest, and
when the Governor had told him of the trick played by the Master Thief
there was no end to the ridicule he cast on the Governor.

‘For my part,’ said the Priest, ‘I can’t imagine myself being made a
fool of by such a fellow as that!’

‘Well, I advise you to be careful,’ said the Governor, ‘for he may be
with you before you are at all aware.’

But the Priest repeated what he had said, and mocked the Governor for
having allowed himself to be made such a fool of.

Later in the afternoon the Master Thief came and wanted to have the
Governor’s daughter as he had promised.

‘You must first give some more samples of your skill,’ said the
Governor, trying to speak him fair, ‘for what you did to-day was no
such very great thing after all. Couldn’t you play off a really good
trick on the Priest? for he is sitting inside there and calling me a
fool for having let myself be taken in by such a fellow as you.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be very hard to do that,’ said the Master Thief. So
he dressed himself up like a bird, and threw a great white sheet over
himself; broke off a goose’s wings, and set them on his back; and in
this attire climbed into a great maple tree which stood in the Priest’s
garden. So when the Priest returned home in the evening the youth began
to cry, ‘Father Lawrence! Father Lawrence! ‘for the Priest was called
Father Lawrence.

‘Who is calling me?’ said the Priest.

‘I am an angel sent to announce to thee that because of thy piety thou
shalt be taken away alive into heaven,’ said the Master Thief. ‘Wilt
thou hold thyself in readiness to travel away next Monday night? for
then will I come and fetch thee, and bear thee away with me in a sack,
and thou must lay all thy gold and silver, and whatsoever thou may’st
possess of this world’s wealth, in a heap in thy best parlour.’

So Father Lawrence fell down on his knees before the angel and thanked
him, and the following Sunday he preached a farewell sermon, and gave
out that an angel had come down into the large maple tree in his
garden, and had announced to him that, because of his righteousness, he
should be taken up alive into heaven, and as he thus preached and told
them this everyone in the church, old or young, wept.

On Monday night the Master Thief once more came as an angel, and before
the Priest was put into the sack he fell on his knees and thanked him;
but no sooner was the Priest safely inside it than the Master Thief
began to drag him away over stocks and stones.

‘Oh! oh!’ cried the Priest in the sack. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘This is the way to heaven. The way to heaven is not an easy one,’ said
the Master Thief, and dragged him along till he all but killed him.

At last he flung him into the Governor’s goose-house, and the geese
began to hiss and peck at him, till he felt more dead than alive.

‘Oh! oh! oh! Where am I now?’ asked the Priest.

‘Now you are in Purgatory,’ said the Master Thief, and off he went and
took the gold and the silver and all the precious things which the
Priest had laid together in his best parlour.

Next morning, when the goose-girl came to let out the geese, she heard
the Priest bemoaning himself as he lay in the sack in the goose-house.

‘Oh, heavens! who is that, and what ails you?’ said she.

‘Oh,’ said the Priest, ‘if you are an angel from heaven do let me out
and let me go back to earth again, for no place was ever so bad as
this—the little fiends nip me so with their tongs.’

‘I am no angel,’ said the girl, and helped the Priest out of the sack.
‘I only look after the Governor’s geese, that’s what I do, and they are
the little fiends which have pinched your reverence.’

‘This is the Master Thief’s doing! Oh, my gold and my silver and my
best clothes!’ shrieked the Priest, and, wild with rage, he ran home so
fast that the goose-girl thought he had suddenly gone mad.

When the Governor learnt what had happened to the Priest he laughed
till he nearly killed himself, but when the Master Thief came and
wanted to have his daughter according to promise, he once more gave him
nothing but fine words, and said, ‘You must give me one more proof of
your skill, so that I can really judge of your worth. I have twelve
horses in my stable, and I will put twelve stable boys in it, one on
each horse. If you are clever enough to steal the horses from under
them, I will see what I can do for you.’

‘What you set me to do can be done,’ said the Master Thief, ‘but am I
certain to get your daughter when it is?’

‘Yes; if you can do that I will do my best for you,’ said the Governor.

So the Master Thief went to a shop, and bought enough brandy to fill
two pocket flasks, and he put a sleeping drink into one of these, but
into the other he poured brandy only. Then he engaged eleven men to lie
that night in hiding behind the Governor’s stable. After this, by fair
words and good payment, he borrowed a ragged gown and a jerkin from an
aged woman, and then, with a staff in his hand and a poke on his back,
he hobbled off as evening came on towards the Governor’s stable. The
stable boys were just watering the horses for the night, and it was
quite as much as they could do to attend to that.

‘What on earth do you want here?’ said one of them to the old woman.

‘Oh dear! oh dear! How cold it is!’ she said, sobbing, and shivering
with cold. ‘Oh dear! oh dear! it’s cold enough to freeze a poor old
body to death!’ and she shivered and shook again, and said, ‘For
heaven’s sake give me leave to stay here and sit just inside the stable
door.’

‘You will get nothing of the kind! Be off this moment! If the Governor
were to catch sight of you here, he would lead us a pretty dance,’ said
one.

‘Oh! what a poor helpless old creature!’ said another, who felt sorry
for her. ‘That poor old woman can do no harm to anyone. She may sit
there and welcome.’

The rest of them thought that she ought not to stay, but while they
were disputing about this and looking after the horses, she crept
farther and farther into the stable, and at last sat down behind the
door, and when once she was inside no one took any more notice of her.

As the night wore on the stable boys found it rather cold work to sit
still on horseback.

‘Hutetu! But it is fearfully cold!’ said one, and began to beat his
arms backwards and forwards across his breast.

‘Yes, I am so cold that my teeth are chattering,’ said another.

‘If one had but a little tobacco,’ said a third.

Well, one of them had a little, so they shared it among them, though
there was very little for each man, but they chewed it. This was some
help to them, but very soon they were just as cold as before.

‘Hutetu!’ said one of them, shivering again.

‘Hutetu!’ said the old woman, gnashing her teeth together till they
chattered inside her mouth; and then she got out the flask which
contained nothing but brandy, and her hands trembled so that she shook
the bottle about, and when she drank it made a great gulp in her
throat.

‘What is that you have in your flask, old woman?’ asked one of the
stable boys.

‘Oh, it’s only a little drop of brandy, your honour,’ she said.

‘Brandy! What! Let me have a drop! Let me have a drop!’ screamed all
the twelve at once.

‘Oh, but what I have is so little,’ whimpered the old woman. ‘It will
not even wet your mouths.’

But they were determined to have it, and there was nothing to be done
but give it; so she took out the flask with the sleeping drink and put
it to the lips of the first of them; and now she shook no more, but
guided the flask so that each of them got just as much as he ought, and
the twelfth had not done drinking before the first was already sitting
snoring. Then the Master Thief flung off his beggar’s rags, and took
one stable boy after the other and gently set him astride on the
partitions which divided the stalls, and then he called his eleven men
who were waiting outside, and they rode off with the Governor’s horses.

In the morning when the Governor came to look after his stable boys
they were just beginning to come to again. They were driving their
spurs into the partition till the splinters flew about, and some of the
boys fell off, and some still hung on and sat looking like fools. ‘Ah,
well,’ said the Governor, ‘it is easy to see who has been here; but
what a worthless set of fellows you must be to sit here and let the
Master Thief steal the horses from under you!’ And they all got a
beating for not having kept watch better.

Later in the day the Master Thief came and related what he had done,
and wanted to have the Governor’s daughter as had been promised. But
the Governor gave him a hundred dollars, and said that he must do
something that was better still.

‘Do you think you can steal my horse from under me when I am out riding
on it?’ said he.

‘Well, it might be done,’ said the Master Thief, ‘if I were absolutely
certain that I should get your daughter.’

So the Governor said that he would see what he could do, and then he
said that on a certain day he would ride out to a great common where
they drilled the soldiers.

So the Master Thief immediately got hold of an old worn-out mare, and
set himself to work to make a collar for it of green withies and
branches of broom; bought a shabby old cart and a great cask, and then
he told a poor old beggar woman that he would give her ten dollars if
she would get into the cask and keep her mouth wide-open beneath the
tap-hole, into which he was going to stick his finger. No harm should
happen to her, he said; she should only be driven about a little, and
if he took his finger out more than once, she should have ten dollars
more. Then he dressed himself in rags, dyed himself with soot, and put
on a wig and a great beard of goat’s hair, so that it was impossible to
recognise him, and went to the parade ground, where the Governor had
already been riding about a long time.

When the Master Thief got there the mare went along so slowly and
quietly that the cart hardly seemed to move from the spot. The mare
pulled it a little forward, and then a little back, and then it stopped
quite short. Then the mare pulled a little forward again, and it moved
with such difficulty that the Governor had not the least idea that this
was the Master Thief. He rode straight up to him, and asked if he had
seen anyone hiding anywhere about in a wood that was close by.

‘No,’ said the man, ‘that have I not.’

‘Hark you,’ said the Governor. ‘If you will ride into that wood, and
search it carefully to see if you can light upon a fellow who is hiding
in there, you shall have the loan of my horse and a good present of
money for your trouble.’

‘I am not sure that I can do it,’ said the man, ‘for I have to go to a
wedding with this cask of mead which I have been to fetch, and the tap
has fallen out on the way, so now I have to keep my finger in the
tap-hole as I drive.’

‘Oh, just ride off,’ said the Governor, ‘and I will look after the cask
and the horse too.’

So the man said that if he would do that he would go, but he begged the
Governor to be very careful to put his finger into the tap-hole the
moment he took his out.

So the Governor said that he would do his very best, and the Master
Thief got on the Governor’s horse.

But time passed, and it grew later and later, and still the man did not
come back, and at last the Governor grew so weary of keeping his finger
in the tap-hole that he took it out.

‘Now I shall have ten dollars more!’ cried the old woman inside the
cask; so he soon saw what kind of mead it was, and set out homewards.
When he had gone a very little way he met his servant bringing him the
horse, for the Master Thief had already taken it home.

The following day he went to the Governor and wanted to have his
daughter according to promise. But the Governor again put him off with
fine words, and only gave him three hundred dollars, saying that he
must do one more masterpiece of skill, and if he were but able to do
that he should have her.

Well, the Master Thief thought he might if he could hear what it was.

‘Do you think you can steal the sheet off our bed, and my wife’s
night-gown?’ said the Governor.

‘That is by no means impossible,’ said the Master Thief. ‘I only wish I
could get your daughter as easily.’

So late at night the Master Thief went and cut down a thief who was
hanging on the gallows, laid him on his own shoulders, and took him
away with him. Then he got hold of a long ladder, set it up against the
Governor’s bedroom window, and climbed up and moved the dead man’s head
up and down, just as if he were some one who was standing outside and
peeping in.

‘There’s the Master Thief, mother!’ said the Governor, nudging his
wife. ‘Now I’ll just shoot him, that I will!’

So he took up a rifle which he had laid at his bedside.

‘Oh no, you must not do that,’ said his wife; ‘you yourself arranged
that he was to come here.’

‘Yes, mother, I will shoot him,’ said he, and lay there aiming, and
then aiming again, for no sooner was the head up and he caught sight of
it than it was gone again. At last he got a chance and fired, and the
dead body fell with a loud thud to the ground, and down went the Master
Thief too, as fast as he could.

‘Well,’ said the Governor, ‘I certainly am the chief man about here,
but people soon begin to talk, and it would be very unpleasant if they
were to see this dead body; the best thing that I can do is to go out
and bury him.’

‘Just do what you think best, father,’ said his wife.

So the Governor got up and went downstairs, and as soon as he had gone
out through the door, the Master Thief stole in and went straight
upstairs to the woman.

‘Well, father dear,’ said she, for she thought it was her husband.
‘Have you got done already?’

‘Oh yes, I only put him into a hole,’ said he, ‘and raked a little
earth over him; that’s all I have been able to do to-night, for it is
fearful weather outside. I will bury him better afterwards, but just
let me have the sheet to wipe myself with, for he was bleeding, and I
have got covered with blood with carrying him.’

So she gave him the sheet.

‘You will have to let me have your night-gown too,’ he said, ‘for I
begin to see that the sheet won’t be enough.’

Then she gave him her night-gown, but just then it came into his head
that he had forgotten to lock the door, and he was forced to go
downstairs and do it before he could lie down in bed again. So off he
went with the sheet, and the night-gown too.

An hour later the real Governor returned.

‘Well, what a time it has taken to lock the house door, father!’ said
his wife, ‘and what have you done with the sheet and the night-gown?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked the Governor.

‘Oh, I am asking you what you have done with the night-gown and sheet
that you got to wipe the blood off yourself with,’ said she.

‘Good heavens!’ said the Governor, ‘has he actually got the better of
me again?’

When day came the Master Thief came too, and wanted to have the
Governor’s daughter as had been promised, and the Governor dared do no
otherwise than give her to him, and much money besides, for he feared
that if he did not the Master Thief might steal the very eyes out of
his head, and that he himself would be ill spoken of by all men. The
Master Thief lived well and happily from that time forth, and whether
he ever stole any more or not I cannot tell you, but if he did it was
but for pastime.[5]

 [5] From P. C. Asbjørnsen.




BROTHER AND SISTER


Brother took sister by the hand and said: ‘Look here; we haven’t had
one single happy hour since our mother died. That stepmother of ours
beats us regularly every day, and if we dare go near her she kicks us
away. We never get anything but hard dry crusts to eat—why, the dog
under the table is better off than we are. She does throw him a good
morsel or two now and then. Oh dear! if our own dear mother only knew
all about it! Come along, and let us go forth into the wide world
together.’

So off they started through fields and meadows, over hedges and
ditches, and walked the whole day long, and when it rained sister said:

‘Heaven and our hearts are weeping together.’

Towards evening they came to a large forest, and were so tired out with
hunger and their long walk, as well as all their trouble, that they
crept into a hollow tree and soon fell fast asleep.

Next morning, when they woke up, the sun was already high in the
heavens and was shining down bright and warm into the tree. Then said
brother:

‘I’m so thirsty, sister; if I did but know where to find a little
stream, I’d go and have a drink. I do believe I hear one.’ He jumped
up, took sister by the hand, and they set off to hunt for the brook.

Now their cruel stepmother was in reality a witch, and she knew
perfectly well that the two children had run away. She had crept
secretly after them, and had cast her spells over all the streams in
the forest.

Presently the children found a little brook dancing and glittering over
the stones, and brother was eager to drink of it, but as it rushed past
sister heard it murmuring:

‘Who drinks of me will be a tiger! who drinks of me will be a tiger!’

So she cried out, ‘Oh! dear brother, pray don’t drink, or you’ll be
turned into a wild beast and tear me to pieces.’

Brother was dreadfully thirsty, but he did not drink.

‘Very well,’ said he, ‘I’ll wait till we come to the next spring.’

When they came to the second brook, sister heard it repeating too:

‘Who drinks of me will be a wolf! who drinks of me will be a wolf!’

And she cried, ‘Oh! brother, pray don’t drink here either, or you’ll be
turned into a wolf and eat me up.’

Again brother did not drink, but he said:

‘Well, I’ll wait a little longer till we reach the next stream, but
then, whatever you may say, I really must drink, for I can bear this
thirst no longer.’

And when they got to the third brook, sister heard it say as it rushed
past:

‘Who drinks of me will be a roe! who drinks of me will be a roe!’

And she begged, ‘Ah! brother, don’t drink yet, or you’ll become a roe
and run away from me.’

But her brother was already kneeling by the brook and bending over it
to drink, and, sure enough, no sooner had his lips touched the water
than he fell on the grass transformed into a little Roebuck.

Sister cried bitterly over her poor bewitched brother, and the little
Roe wept too, and sat sadly by her side. At last the girl said:

‘Never mind, dear little fawn, I will never forsake you,’ and she took
off her golden garter and tied it round the Roe’s neck.

Then she plucked rushes and plaited a soft cord of them, which she
fastened to the collar. When she had done this she led the Roe farther
and farther, right into the depths of the forest.

After they had gone a long, long way they came to a little house, and
when the girl looked into it she found it was quite empty, and she
thought ‘perhaps we might stay and live here.’

So she hunted up leaves and moss to make a soft bed for the little Roe,
and every morning and evening she went out and gathered roots, nuts,
and berries for herself, and tender young grass for the fawn. And he
fed from her hand, and played round her and seemed quite happy. In the
evening, when sister was tired, she said her prayers and then laid her
head on the fawn’s back and fell sound asleep with it as a pillow. And
if brother had but kept his natural form, really it would have been a
most delightful kind of life.

They had been living for some time in the forest in this way, when it
came to pass that the King of that country had a great hunt through the
woods. Then the whole forest rang with such a blowing of horns, baying
of dogs, and joyful cries of huntsmen, that the little Roe heard it and
longed to join in too.

‘Ah!’ said he to sister, ‘do let me go off to the hunt! I can’t keep
still any longer.’

And he begged and prayed till at last she consented.

‘But,’ said she, ‘mind you come back in the evening. I shall lock my
door fast for fear of those wild huntsmen; so, to make sure of my
knowing you, knock at the door and say, “My sister dear, open; I’m
here.” If you don’t speak I shan’t open the door.’

So off sprang the little Roe, and he felt quite well and happy in the
free open air.

The King and his huntsmen soon saw the beautiful creature and started
in pursuit, but they could not come up with it, and whenever they
thought they were sure to catch it, it bounded off to one side into the
bushes and disappeared. When night came on it ran home, and knocking at
the door of the little house cried:

‘My sister dear, open; I’m here.’ The door opened, and he ran in and
rested all night on his soft mossy bed.

Next morning the hunt began again, and as soon as the little Roe heard
the horns and the ‘Ho! ho!’ of the huntsmen, he could not rest another
moment, and said:

‘Sister, open the door, I must get out.’

So sister opened the door and said, ‘Now mind and get back by
nightfall, and say your little rhyme.’

As soon as the King and his huntsmen saw the Roe with the golden collar
they all rode off after it, but it was far too quick and nimble for
them. This went on all day, but as evening came on the huntsmen had
gradually encircled the Roe, and one of them wounded it slightly in the
foot, so that it limped and ran off slowly.

Then the huntsman stole after it as far as the little house, and heard
it call out, ‘My sister dear, open; I’m here,’ and he saw the door open
and close immediately the fawn had run in.

The huntsman remembered all this carefully, and went off straight to
the King and told him all he had seen and heard.

‘To-morrow we will hunt again,’ said the King.

Poor sister was terribly frightened when she saw how her little Fawn
had been wounded. She washed off the blood, bound up the injured foot
with herbs, and said: ‘Now, dear, go and lie down and rest, so that
your wound may heal.’

The wound was really so slight that it was quite well next day, and the
little Roe did not feel it at all. No sooner did it hear the sounds of
hunting in the forest than it cried:

‘I can’t stand this, I must be there too; I’ll take care they shan’t
catch me.’

Sister began to cry, and said, ‘They are certain to kill you, and then
I shall be left all alone in the forest and forsaken by everyone. I
can’t and won’t let you out.’

‘Then I shall die of grief,’ replied the Roe, ‘for when I hear that
horn I feel as if I must jump right out of my skin.’

So at last, when sister found there was nothing else to be done, she
opened the door with a heavy heart, and the Roe darted forth full of
glee and health into the forest.

As soon as the King saw the Roe, he said to his huntsman, ‘Now then,
give chase to it all day till evening, but mind and be careful not to
hurt it.’

When the sun had set the King said to his huntsman, ‘Now come and show
me the little house in the wood.’

And when he got to the house he knocked at the door and said, ‘My
sister dear, open; I’m here.’ Then the door opened and the King walked
in, and there stood the loveliest maiden he had ever seen.

The girl was much startled when instead of the little Roe she expected
she saw a man with a gold crown on his head walk in. But the King
looked kindly at her, held out his hand, and said, ‘Will you come with
me to my castle and be my dear wife?’

‘Oh yes!’ replied the maiden, ‘but you must let my Roe come too. I
could not possibly forsake it.’

‘It shall stay with you as long as you live, and shall want for
nothing,’ the King promised.

In the meantime the Roe came bounding in, and sister tied the rush cord
once more to its collar, took the end in her hand, and so they left the
little house in the forest together.

The King lifted the lonely maiden on to his horse, and led her to his
castle, where the wedding was celebrated with the greatest splendour.
The Roe was petted and caressed, and ran about at will in the palace
gardens.

Now all this time the wicked stepmother, who had been the cause of
these poor children’s misfortunes and trying adventures, was feeling
fully persuaded that sister had been torn to pieces by wild beasts, and
brother shot to death in the shape of a Roe. When she heard how happy
and prosperous they were, her heart was filled with envy and hatred,
and she could think of nothing but how to bring some fresh misfortune
on them. Her own daughter, who was as hideous as night and had only one
eye, reproached her by saying, ‘It is I who ought to have had this good
luck and been Queen.’

‘Be quiet, will you,’ said the old woman; ‘when the time comes I shall
be at hand.’

Now after some time it happened one day when the King was out hunting
that the Queen gave birth to a beautiful little boy. The old witch
thought here was a good chance for her; so she took the form of the
lady in waiting, and, hurrying into the room where the Queen lay in her
bed, called out, ‘The bath is quite ready; it will help to make you
strong again. Come, let us be quick, for fear the water should get
cold.’ Her daughter was at hand, too, and between them they carried the
Queen, who was still very weak, into the bath-room and laid her in the
bath; then they locked the door and ran away.

They took care beforehand to make a blazing hot fire under the bath, so
that the lovely young Queen might be suffocated.

As soon as they were sure this was the case, the old witch tied a cap
on her daughter’s head and laid her in the Queen’s bed. She managed,
too, to make her figure and general appearance look like the Queen’s,
but even her power could not restore the eye she had lost; so she made
her lie on the side of the missing eye, in order to prevent the King’s
noticing anything.

In the evening, when the King came home and heard the news of his son’s
birth, he was full of delight, and insisted on going at once to his
dear wife’s bedside to see how she was getting on. But the old witch
cried out, ‘Take care and keep the curtains drawn; don’t let the light
get into the Queen’s eyes; she must be kept perfectly quiet.’ So the
King went away and never knew that it was a false Queen who lay in the
bed.

When midnight came and everyone in the palace was sound asleep, the
nurse who alone watched by the baby’s cradle in the nursery saw the
door open gently, and who should come in but the real Queen. She lifted
the child from its cradle, laid it on her arm, and nursed it for some
time. Then she carefully shook up the pillows of the little bed, laid
the baby down and tucked the coverlet in all round him. She did not
forget the little Roe either, but went to the corner where it lay, and
gently stroked its back. Then she silently left the room, and next
morning when the nurse asked the sentries if they had seen any one go
into the castle that night, they all said, ‘No, we saw no one at all.’

For many nights the Queen came in the same way, but she never spoke a
word, and the nurse was too frightened to say anything about her
visits.

After some little time had elapsed the Queen spoke one night, and said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?
I’ll come back twice and then farewell.’


The nurse made no answer, but as soon as the Queen had disappeared she
went to the King and told him all. The King exclaimed, ‘Good heavens!
what do you say? I will watch myself to-night by the child’s bed.’

When the evening came he went to the nursery, and at midnight the Queen
appeared and said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?
I’ll come back once and then farewell.’


And she nursed and petted the child as usual before she disappeared.
The King dared not trust himself to speak to her, but the following
night he kept watch again.

That night when the Queen came she said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?
I’ve come this once, and now farewell.’


Then the King could restrain himself no longer, but sprang to her side
and cried, ‘You can be no one but my dear wife!’

‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am your dear wife!’ and in the same moment she was
restored to life, and was as fresh and well and rosy as ever. Then she
told the King all the cruel things the wicked witch and her daughter
had done. The King had them both arrested at once and brought to trial,
and they were condemned to death. The daughter was led into the forest,
where the wild beasts tore her to pieces, and the old witch was burnt
at the stake.

As soon as she reduced to ashes the spell was taken off the little Roe,
and he was restored to his natural shape once more, and so brother and
sister lived happily ever after.[6]

 [6] Grimm.




PRINCESS ROSETTE


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who had two beautiful
sons and one little daughter, who was so pretty that no one who saw her
could help loving her. When it was time for the christening of the
Princess, the Queen—as she always did—sent for all the fairies to be
present at the ceremony, and afterwards invited them to a splendid
banquet.

When it was over, and they were preparing to go away, the Queen said to
them:

‘Do not forget your usual good custom. Tell me what is going to happen
to Rosette.’

For that was the name they had given the Princess.

But the fairies said they had left their book of magic at home, and
they would come another day and tell her.

‘Ah!’ said the Queen, ‘I know very well what that means—you have
nothing good to say; but at least I beg that you will not hide anything
from me.’

So, after a great deal of persuasion, they said:

‘Madam, we fear that Rosette may be the cause of great misfortunes to
her brothers; they may even meet with their death through her; that is
all we have been able to foresee about your dear little daughter. We
are very sorry to have nothing better to tell you.’

Then they went away, leaving the Queen very sad, so sad that the King
noticed it, and asked her what was the matter.

The Queen said that she had been sitting too near the fire, and had
burnt all the flax that was upon her distaff.

‘Oh! is that all?’ said the King, and he went up into the garret and
brought her down more flax than she could spin in a hundred years. But
the Queen still looked sad, and the King asked her again what was the
matter. She answered that she had been walking by the river and had
dropped one of her green satin slippers into the water.

‘Oh! if that’s all,’ said the King, and he sent to all the shoe-makers
in his kingdom, and they very soon made the Queen ten thousand green
satin slippers, but still she looked sad. So the King asked her again
what was the matter, and this time she answered that in eating her
porridge too hastily she had swallowed her wedding-ring. But it so
happened that the King knew better, for he had the ring himself, and he
said:

‘Oh! you are not telling me the truth, for I have your ring here in my
purse.’

Then the Queen was very much ashamed, and she saw that the King was
vexed with her; so she told him all that the fairies had predicted
about Rosette, and begged him to think how the misfortunes might be
prevented.

Then it was the King’s turn to look sad, and at last he said:

‘I see no way of saving our sons except by having Rosette’s head cut
off while she is still little.’

But the Queen cried that she would far rather have her own head cut
off, and that he had better think of something else, for she would
never consent to such a thing. So they thought and thought, but they
could not tell what to do, until at last the Queen heard that in a
great forest near the castle there was an old hermit, who lived in a
hollow tree, and that people came from far and near to consult him; so
she said:

‘I had better go and ask his advice; perhaps he will know what to do to
prevent the misfortunes which the fairies foretold.’

She set out very early the next morning, mounted upon a pretty little
white mule, which was shod with solid gold, and two of her ladies rode
behind her on beautiful horses. When they reached the forest they
dismounted, for the trees grew so thickly that the horses could not
pass, and made their way on foot to the hollow tree where the hermit
lived. At first when he saw them coming he was vexed, for he was not
fond of ladies; but when he recognised the Queen, he said:

‘You are welcome, Queen. What do you come to ask of me?’

Then the Queen told him all the fairies had foreseen for Rosette, and
asked what she should do, and the hermit answered that she must shut
the Princess up in a tower and never let her come out of it again. The
Queen thanked and rewarded him, and hastened back to the castle to tell
the King. When he heard the news he had a great tower built as quickly
as possible, and there the Princess was shut up, and the King and Queen
and her two brothers went to see her every day that she might not be
dull. The eldest brother was called ‘the Great Prince,’ and the second
‘the Little Prince.’ They loved their sister dearly, for she was the
sweetest, prettiest princess who was ever seen, and the least little
smile from her was worth more than a hundred pieces of gold. When
Rosette was fifteen years old the Great Prince went to the King and
asked if it would not soon be time for her to be married, and the
Little Prince put the same question to the Queen.

Their majesties were amused at them for thinking of it, but did not
make any reply, and soon after both the King and the Queen were taken
ill, and died on the same day. Everybody was sorry, Rosette especially,
and all the bells in the kingdom were tolled.

Then all the dukes and counsellors put the Great Prince upon a golden
throne, and crowned him with a diamond crown, and they all cried, ‘Long
live the King!’ And after that there was nothing but feasting and
rejoicing.

The new King and his brother said to one another:

‘Now that we are the masters, let us take our sister out of that dull
tower which she is so tired of.’

They had only to go across the garden to reach the tower, which was
very high, and stood up in a corner. Rosette was busy at her
embroidery, but when she saw her brothers she got up, and taking the
King’s hand cried:

‘Good morning, dear brother. Now that you are King, please take me out
of this dull tower, for I am so tired of it.’

Then she began to cry, but the King kissed her and told her to dry her
tears, as that was just what they had come for, to take her out of the
tower and bring her to their beautiful castle, and the Prince showed
her the pocketful of sugar plums he had brought for her, and said:

‘Make haste, and let us get away from this ugly tower, and very soon
the King will arrange a grand marriage for you.’

When Rosette saw the beautiful garden, full of fruit and flowers, with
green grass and sparkling fountains, she was so astonished that not a
word could she say, for she had never in her life seen anything like it
before. She looked about her, and ran hither and thither gathering
fruit and flowers, and her little dog Frisk, who was bright green all
over, and had but one ear, danced before her, crying ‘Bow-wow-wow,’ and
turning head over heels in the most enchanting way.

Everybody was amused at Frisk’s antics, but all of a sudden he ran away
into a little wood, and the Princess was following him, when, to her
great delight, she saw a peacock, who was spreading his tail in the
sunshine. Rosette thought she had never seen anything so pretty. She
could not take her eyes off him, and there she stood entranced until
the King and the Prince came up and asked what was amusing her so much.
She showed them the peacock, and asked what it was, and they answered
that it was a bird which people sometimes ate.

‘What!’ said the Princess, ‘do they dare to kill that beautiful
creature and eat it? I declare that I will never marry any one but the
King of the Peacocks, and when I am Queen I will take very good care
that nobody eats any of my subjects.’

At this the King was very much astonished.

‘But, little sister,’ said he, ‘where shall we find the King of the
Peacocks?’

‘Oh! wherever you like, sire,’ she answered, ‘but I will never marry
any one else.’

After this they took Rosette to the beautiful castle, and the peacock
was brought with her, and told to walk about on the terrace outside her
windows, so that she might always see him, and then the ladies of the
court came to see the Princess, and they brought her beautiful
presents—dresses and ribbons and sweetmeats, diamonds and pearls and
dolls and embroidered slippers, and she was so well brought up, and
said, ‘Thank you!’ so prettily, and was so gracious, that everyone went
away delighted with her.

Meanwhile the King and the Prince were considering how they should find
the King of the Peacocks, if there was such a person in the world. And
first of all they had a portrait made of the Princess, which was so
like her that you really would not have been surprised if it had spoken
to you. Then they said to her:

‘Since you will not marry anyone but the King of the Peacocks, we are
going out together into the wide world to search for him. If we find
him for you we shall be very glad. In the meantime, mind you take good
care of our kingdom.’

Rosette thanked them for all the trouble they were taking on her
account, and promised to take great care of the kingdom, and only to
amuse herself by looking at the peacock, and making Frisk dance while
they were away.

So they set out, and asked everyone they met—

‘Do you know the King of the Peacocks?’

But the answer was always, ‘No, no.’

Then they went on and on, so far that no one has ever been farther, and
at last they came to the Kingdom of the Cockchafers.

They had never before seen such a number of cockchafers, and the
buzzing was so loud that the King was afraid he should be deafened by
it. He asked the most distinguished-looking cockchafer they met if he
knew where they could find the King of the Peacocks.

‘Sire,’ replied the cockchafer, ‘his kingdom is thirty thousand leagues
from this; you have come the longest way.’

‘And how do you know that?’ said the King.

‘Oh!’ said the cockchafer, ‘we all know you very well, since we spend
two or three months in your garden every year.’

Thereupon the King and the Prince made great friends with him, and they
all walked arm-in-arm and dined together, and afterwards the cockchafer
showed them all the curiosities of his strange country, where the
tiniest green leaf costs a gold piece and more. Then they set out again
to finish their journey, and this time, as they knew the way, they were
not long upon the road. It was easy to guess that they had come to the
right place, for they saw peacocks in every tree, and their cries could
be heard a long way off.

When they reached the city they found it full of men and women who were
dressed entirely in peacocks’ feathers, which were evidently thought
prettier than anything else.

They soon met the King, who was driving about in a beautiful little
golden carriage which glittered with diamonds, and was drawn at full
speed by twelve peacocks. The King and the Prince were delighted to see
that the King of the Peacocks was as handsome as possible. He had curly
golden hair and was very pale, and he wore a crown of peacocks’
feathers.

When he saw Rosette’s brothers he knew at once that they were
strangers, and stopping his carriage he sent for them to speak to him.
When they had greeted him they said:

‘Sire, we have come from very far away to show you a beautiful
portrait.’

So saying they drew from their travelling bag the picture of Rosette.

The King looked at it in silence a long time, but at last he said:

‘I could not have believed that there was such a beautiful Princess in
the world!’

‘Indeed, she is really a hundred times as pretty as that,’ said her
brothers.

‘I think you must be making fun of me,’ replied the King of the
Peacocks.

‘Sire,’ said the Prince, ‘my brother is a King, like yourself. He is
called “the King,” I am called “the Prince,” and that is the portrait
of our sister, the Princess Rosette. We have come to ask if you would
like to marry her. She is as good as she is beautiful, and we will give
her a bushel of gold pieces for her dowry.’

‘Oh! with all my heart,’ replied the King, ‘and I will make her very
happy. She shall have whatever she likes, and I shall love her dearly;
only I warn you that if she is not as pretty as you have told me, I
will have your heads cut off.’

‘Oh! certainly, we quite agree to that,’ said the brothers in one
breath.

‘Very well. Off with you into prison, and stay there until the Princess
arrives,’ said the King of the Peacocks.

And the Princes were so sure that Rosette was far prettier than her
portrait that they went without a murmur. They were very kindly
treated, and that they might not feel dull the King came often to see
them. As for Rosette’s portrait that was taken up to the palace, and
the King did nothing but gaze at it all day and all night.

As the King and the Prince had to stay in prison, they sent a letter to
the Princess telling her to pack up all her treasures as quickly as
possible, and come to them, as the King of the Peacocks was waiting to
marry her; but they did not say that they were in prison, for fear of
making her uneasy.

When Rosette received the letter she was so delighted that she ran
about telling everyone that the King of the Peacocks was found, and she
was going to marry him.

Guns were fired, and fireworks let off. Everyone had as many cakes and
sweetmeats as he wanted. And for three days everybody who came to see
the Princess was presented with a slice of bread-and-jam, a
nightingale’s egg, and some hippocras. After having thus entertained
her friends, she distributed her dolls among them, and left her
brother’s kingdom to the care of the wisest old men of the city,
telling them to take charge of everything, not to spend any money, but
save it all up until the King should return, and above all, not to
forget to feed her peacock. Then she set out, only taking with her her
nurse, and the nurse’s daughter, and the little green dog Frisk.

They took a boat and put out to sea, carrying with them the bushel of
gold pieces, and enough dresses to last the Princess ten years if she
wore two every day, and they did nothing but laugh and sing. The nurse
asked the boatman:

‘Can you take us, can you take us to the kingdom of the peacocks?’

But he answered:

‘Oh no! oh no!’

Then she said:

‘You must take us, you must take us.’

And he answered:

‘Very soon, very soon.’

Then the nurse said:

‘Will you take us? will you take us?’

And the boatman answered:

‘Yes, yes.’

Then she whispered in his ear:

‘Do you want to make your fortune?’

And he said:

‘Certainly I do.’

‘I can tell you how to get a bag of gold,’ said she.

‘I ask nothing better,’ said the boatman.

‘Well,’ said the nurse, ‘to-night, when the Princess is asleep, you
must help me to throw her into the sea, and when she is drowned I will
put her beautiful clothes upon my daughter, and we will take her to the
King of the Peacocks, who will be only too glad to marry her, and as
your reward you shall have your boat full of diamonds.’

The boatman was very much surprised at this proposal, and said:

‘But what a pity to drown such a pretty Princess!’

However, at last the nurse persuaded him to help her, and when the
night came and the Princess was fast asleep as usual, with Frisk curled
up on his own cushion at the foot of her bed, the wicked nurse fetched
the boatman and her daughter, and between them they picked up the
Princess, feather bed, mattress, pillows, blankets and all, and threw
her into the sea, without even waking her. Now, luckily, the Princess’s
bed was entirely stuffed with phoenix feathers, which are very rare,
and have the property of always floating upon water, so Rosette went on
swimming about as if she had been in a boat. After a little while she
began to feel very cold, and turned round so often that she woke Frisk,
who started up, and, having a very good nose, smelt the soles and
herrings so close to him that he began to bark. He barked so long and
so loud that he woke all the other fish, who came swimming up round the
Princess’s bed, and poking at it with their great heads. As for her,
she said to herself:

‘How our boat does rock upon the water! I am really glad that I am not
often as uncomfortable as I have been to-night.’

The wicked nurse and the boatman, who were by this time quite a long
way off, heard Frisk barking, and said to each other:

‘That horrid little animal and his mistress are drinking our health in
sea-water now. Let us make haste to land, for we must be quite near the
city of the King of the Peacocks.’

The King had sent a hundred carriages to meet them, drawn by every kind
of strange animal. There were lions, bears, wolves, stags, horses,
buffaloes, eagles, and peacocks. The carriage intended for the Princess
Rosette had six blue monkeys, which could turn summer-saults, and dance
on a tight-rope, and do many other charming tricks. Their harness was
all of crimson velvet with gold buckles, and behind the carriage walked
sixty beautiful ladies chosen by the King to wait upon Rosette and
amuse her.

The nurse had taken all the pains imaginable to deck out her daughter.
She put on her Rosette’s prettiest frock, and covered her with diamonds
from head to foot. But she was so ugly that nothing could make her look
nice, and what was worse, she was sulky and ill-tempered, and did
nothing but grumble all the time.

When she stepped from the boat and the escort sent by the King of the
Peacocks caught sight of her, they were so surprised that they could
not say a single word.

‘Now then, look alive,’ cried the false Princess. ‘If you don’t bring
me something to eat I will have all your heads cut off!’

Then they whispered one to another:

‘Here’s a pretty state of things! she is as wicked as she is ugly. What
a bride for our poor King! She certainly was not worth bringing from
the other end of the world!’

But she went on ordering them all about, and for no fault at all would
give slaps and pinches to everyone she could reach.

As the procession was so long it advanced but slowly, and the nurse’s
daughter sat up in her carriage trying to look like a Queen. But the
peacocks, who were sitting upon every tree waiting to salute her, and
who had made up their minds to cry, ‘Long live our beautiful Queen!’
when they caught sight of the false bride could not help crying
instead:

‘Oh! how ugly she is!’

Which offended her so much that she said to the guards:

‘Make haste and kill all these insolent peacocks who have dared to
insult me.’

But the peacocks only flew away, laughing at her.

The rogue of a boatman, who noticed all this, said softly to the nurse:

‘This is a bad business for us, gossip; your daughter ought to have
been prettier.’

But she answered:

‘Be quiet, stupid, or you will spoil everything.’

Now they told the King that the Princess was approaching.

‘Well,’ said he, ‘did her brothers tell me truly? Is she prettier than
her portrait?’

‘Sire,’ they answered, ‘if she were as pretty that would do very well.’

‘That’s true,’ said the King; ‘I for one shall be quite satisfied if
she is. Let us go and meet her.’ For they knew by the uproar that she
had arrived, but they could not tell what all the shouting was about.
The King thought he could hear the words:

‘How ugly she is! How ugly she is!’ and he fancied they must refer to
some dwarf the Princess was bringing with her. It never occurred to him
that they could apply to the bride herself.

The Princess Rosette’s portrait was carried at the head of the
procession, and after it walked the King surrounded by his courtiers.
He was all impatience to see the lovely Princess, but when he caught
sight of the nurse’s daughter he was furiously angry, and would not
advance another step. For she was really ugly enough to have frightened
anybody.

‘What!’ he cried, ‘have the two rascals who are my prisoners dared to
play me such a trick as this? Do they propose that I shall marry this
hideous creature? Let her be shut up in my great tower, with her nurse
and those who brought her here; and as for them, I will have their
heads cut off.’

Meanwhile the King and the Prince, who knew that their sister must have
arrived, had made themselves smart, and sat expecting every minute to
be summoned to greet her. So when the gaoler came with soldiers, and
carried them down into a black dungeon which swarmed with toads and
bats, and where they were up to their necks in water, nobody could have
been more surprised and dismayed than they were.

‘This is a dismal kind of wedding,’ they said; ‘what can have happened
that we should be treated like this? They must mean to kill us.’

And this idea annoyed them very much. Three days passed before they
heard any news, and then the King of the Peacocks came and berated them
through a hole in the wall.

‘You have called yourselves King and Prince,’ he cried, ‘to try and
make me marry your sister, but you are nothing but beggars, not worth
the water you drink. I mean to make short work with you, and the sword
is being sharpened that will cut off your heads!’

‘King of the Peacocks,’ answered the King angrily, ‘you had better take
care what you are about. I am as good a King as yourself, and have a
splendid kingdom and robes and crowns, and plenty of good red gold to
do what I like with. You are pleased to jest about having our heads cut
off; perhaps you think we have stolen something from you?’

At first the King of the Peacocks was taken aback by this bold speech,
and had half a mind to send them all away together; but his Prime
Minister declared that it would never do to let such a trick as that
pass unpunished, everybody would laugh at him; so the accusation was
drawn up against them, that they were impostors, and that they had
promised the King a beautiful Princess in marriage who, when she
arrived, proved to be an ugly peasant girl.

This accusation was read to the prisoners, who cried out that they had
spoken the truth, that their sister was indeed a Princess more
beautiful than the day, and that there was some mystery about all this
which they could not fathom. Therefore they demanded seven days in
which to prove their innocence. The King of the Peacocks was so angry
that he would hardly even grant them this favour, but at last he was
persuaded to do so.

While all this was going on at court, let us see what had been
happening to the real Princess. When the day broke she and Frisk were
equally astonished at finding themselves alone upon the sea, with no
boat and no one to help them. The Princess cried and cried, until even
the fishes were sorry for her.

‘Alas!’ she said, ‘the King of the Peacocks must have ordered me to be
thrown into the sea because he had changed his mind and did not want to
marry me. But how strange of him, when I should have loved him so much,
and we should have been so happy together!’

And then she cried harder than ever, for she could not help still
loving him. So for two days they floated up and down the sea, wet and
shivering with the cold, and so hungry that when the Princess saw some
oysters she caught them, and she and Frisk both ate some, though they
didn’t like them at all. When night came the Princess was so frightened
that she said to Frisk:

‘Oh! Do please keep on barking for fear the soles should come and eat
us up!’

Now it happened that they had floated close in to the shore, where a
poor old man lived all alone in a little cottage. When he heard Frisk’s
barking he thought to himself:

‘There must have been a shipwreck!’ (for no dogs ever passed that way
by any chance), and he went out to see if he could be of any use. He
soon saw the Princess and Frisk floating up and down, and Rosette,
stretching out her hands to him, cried:

‘Oh! Good old man, do save me, or I shall die of cold and hunger!’

When he heard her cry out so piteously he was very sorry for her, and
ran back into his house to fetch a long boat-hook. Then he waded into
the water up to his chin, and after being nearly drowned once or twice
he at last succeeded in getting hold of the Princess’s bed and dragging
it on shore.

Rosette and Frisk were joyful enough to find themselves once more on
dry land, and the Princess thanked the old man heartily; then, wrapping
herself up in her blankets, she daintily picked her way up to the
cottage on her little bare feet. There the old man lighted a fire of
straw, and then drew from an old box his wife’s dress and shoes, which
the Princess put on, and thus roughly clad looked as charming as
possible, and Frisk danced his very best to amuse her.

The old man saw that Rosette must be some great lady, for her bed
coverings were all of satin and gold. He begged that she would tell him
all her history, as she might safely trust him. The Princess told him
everything, weeping bitterly again at the thought that it was by the
King’s orders that she had been thrown overboard.

‘And now, my daughter, what is to be done?’ said the old man. ‘You are
a great Princess, accustomed to fare daintily, and I have nothing to
offer you but black bread and radishes, which will not suit you at all.
Shall I go and tell the King of the Peacocks that you are here? If he
sees you he will certainly wish to marry you.’

‘Oh no!’ cried Rosette, ‘he must be wicked, since he tried to drown me.
Don’t let us tell him, but if you have a little basket give it to me.’

The old man gave her a basket, and tying it round Frisk’s neck she said
to him: ‘Go and find out the best cooking-pot in the town and bring the
contents to me.’

Away went Frisk, and as there was no better dinner cooking in all the
town than the King’s, he adroitly took the cover off the pot and
brought all it contained to the Princess, who said:

‘Now go back to the pantry, and bring the best of everything you find
there.’

So Frisk went back and filled his basket with white bread, and red
wine, and every kind of sweetmeat, until it was almost too heavy for
him to carry.

When the King of the Peacocks wanted his dinner there was nothing in
the pot and nothing in the pantry. All the courtiers looked at one
another in dismay, and the King was terribly cross.

‘Oh well! ‘he said, ‘if there is no dinner I cannot dine, but take care
that plenty of things are roasted for supper.’

When evening came the Princess said to Frisk:

‘Go into the town and find out the best kitchen, and bring me all the
nicest morsels that are being roasted upon the spit.’

Frisk did as he was told, and as he knew of no better kitchen than the
King’s, he went in softly, and when the cook’s back was turned took
everything that was upon the spit, As it happened it was all done to a
turn, and looked so good that it made him hungry only to see it. He
carried his basket to the Princess, who at once sent him back to the
pantry to bring all the tarts and sugar plums that had been prepared
for the King’s supper.

The King, as he had had no dinner, was very hungry and wanted his
supper early, but when he asked for it, lo and behold it was all gone,
and he had to go to bed half-starved and in a terrible temper. The next
day the same thing happened, and the next, so that for three days the
King got nothing at all to eat, because just when the dinner or the
supper was ready to be served it mysteriously disappeared. At last the
Prime Minister began to be afraid that the King would be starved to
death, so he resolved to hide himself in some dark corner of the
kitchen, and never take his eyes off the cooking-pot. His surprise was
great when he presently saw a little green dog with one ear slip softly
into the kitchen, uncover the pot, transfer all its contents to his
basket, and run off. The Prime Minister followed hastily, and tracked
him all through the town to the cottage of the good old man; then he
ran back to the King and told him that he had found out where all his
dinners and suppers went. The King, who was very much astonished, said
he should like to go and see for himself. So he set out, accompanied by
the Prime Minister and a guard of archers, and arrived just in time to
find the old man and the Princess finishing his dinner.

The King ordered that they should be seized and bound with ropes, and
Frisk also.

When they were brought back to the palace some one told the King, who
said:

‘To-day is the last day of the respite granted to those impostors; they
shall have their heads cut off at the same time as these stealers of my
dinner.’ Then the old man went down on his knees before the King and
begged for time to tell him everything. While he spoke the King for the
first time looked attentively at the Princess, because he was sorry to
see how she cried, and when he heard the old man saying that her name
was Rosette, and that she had been treacherously thrown into the sea,
he turned head over heels three times without stopping, in spite of
being quite weak from hunger, and ran to embrace her, and untied the
ropes which bound her with his own hands, declaring that he loved her
with all his heart.

Messengers were sent to bring the Princes out of prison, and they came
very sadly, believing that they were to be executed at once: the nurse
and her daughter and the boatman were brought also. As soon as they
came in Rosette ran to embrace her brothers, while the traitors threw
themselves down before her and begged for mercy. The King and the
Princess were so happy that they freely forgave them, and as for the
good old man he was splendidly rewarded, and spent the rest of his days
in the palace. The King of the Peacocks made ample amends to the King
and Prince for the way in which they had been treated, and did
everything in his power to show how sorry he was.

The nurse restored to Rosette all her dresses and jewels, and the
bushel of gold pieces; the wedding was held at once, and they all lived
happily ever after—even to Frisk, who enjoyed the greatest luxury, and
never had anything worse than the wing of a partridge for dinner all
the rest of his life.[7]

 [7] Madame d’Aulnoy.




THE ENCHANTED PIG


Once upon a time there lived a King who had three daughters. Now it
happened that he had to go out to battle, so he called his daughters
and said to them:

‘My dear children, I am obliged to go to the wars. The enemy is
approaching us with a large army. It is a great grief to me to leave
you all. During my absence take care of yourselves and be good girls;
behave well and look after everything in the house. You may walk in the
garden, and you may go into all the rooms in the palace, except the
room at the back in the right-hand corner; into that you must not
enter, for harm would befall you.’

‘You may keep your mind easy, father,’ they replied. ‘We have never
been disobedient to you. Go in peace, and may heaven give you a
glorious victory!’

When everything was ready for his departure, the King gave them the
keys of all the rooms and reminded them once more of what he had said.
His daughters kissed his hands with tears in their eyes, and wished him
prosperity, and he gave the eldest the keys.

Now when the girls found themselves alone they felt so sad and dull
that they did not know what to do. So, to pass the time, they decided
to work for part of the day, to read for part of the day, and to enjoy
themselves in the garden for part of the day. As long as they did this
all went well with them. But this happy state of things did not last
long. Every day they grew more and more curious, and you will see what
the end of that was.

‘Sisters,’ said the eldest Princess, ‘all day long we sew, spin, and
read. We have been several days quite alone, and there is no corner of
the garden that we have not explored. We have been in all the rooms of
our father’s palace, and have admired the rich and beautiful furniture:
why should not we go into the room that our father forbad us to enter?’

‘Sister,’ said the youngest, ‘I cannot think how you can tempt us to
break our father’s command. When he told us not to go into that room he
must have known what he was saying, and have had a good reason for
saying it.’

‘Surely the sky won’t fall about our heads if we _do_ go in,’ said the
second Princess. ‘Dragons and such like monsters that would devour us
will not be hidden in the room. And how will our father ever find out
that we have gone in?’

While they were speaking thus, encouraging each other, they had reached
the room; the eldest fitted the key into the lock, and snap! the door
stood open.

The three girls entered, and what do you think they saw?

The room was quite empty, and without any ornament, but in the middle
stood a large table, with a gorgeous cloth, and on it lay a big open
book.

Now the Princesses were curious to know what was written in the book,
especially the eldest, and this is what she read:

‘The eldest daughter of this King will marry a prince from the East.’

Then the second girl stepped forward, and turning over the page she
read:

‘The second daughter of this King will marry a prince from the West.’

The girls were delighted, and laughed and teased each other.

But the youngest Princess did not want to go near the table or to open
the book. Her elder sisters however left her no peace, and will she,
nill she, they dragged her up to the table, and in fear and trembling
she turned over the page and read:

‘The youngest daughter of this King will be married to a pig from the
North.’

Now if a thunderbolt had fallen upon her from heaven it would not have
frightened her more.

She almost died of misery, and if her sisters had not held her up, she
would have sunk to the ground and cut her head open.

When she came out of the fainting fit into which she had fallen in her
terror, her sisters tried to comfort her, saying:

‘How can you believe such nonsense? When did it ever happen that a
king’s daughter married a pig?’

‘What a baby you are!’ said the other sister; ‘has not our father
enough soldiers to protect you, even if the disgusting creature did
come to woo you?’

The youngest Princess would fain have let herself be convinced by her
sisters’ words, and have believed what they said, but her heart was
heavy. Her thoughts kept turning to the book, in which stood written
that great happiness waited her sisters, but that a fate was in store
for her such as had never before been known in the world.

Besides, the thought weighed on her heart that she had been guilty of
disobeying her father. She began to get quite ill, and in a few days
she was so changed that it was difficult to recognise her; formerly she
had been rosy and merry, now she was pale and nothing gave her any
pleasure. She gave up playing with her sisters in the garden, ceased to
gather flowers to put in her hair, and never sang when they sat
together at their spinning and sewing.

In the meantime the King won a great victory, and having completely
defeated and driven off the enemy, he hurried home to his daughters, to
whom his thoughts had constantly turned. Everyone went out to meet him
with cymbals and fifes and drums, and there was great rejoicing over
his victorious return. The King’s first act on reaching home was to
thank Heaven for the victory he had gained over the enemies who had
risen against him. He then entered his palace, and the three Princesses
stepped forward to meet him. His joy was great when he saw that they
were all well, for the youngest did her best not to appear sad.

In spite of this, however, it was not long before the King noticed that
his third daughter was getting very thin and sad-looking. And all of a
sudden he felt as if a hot iron were entering his soul, for it flashed
through his mind that she had disobeyed his word. He felt sure he was
right; but to be quite certain he called his daughters to him,
questioned them, and ordered them to speak the truth. They confessed
everything, but took good care not to say which had led the other two
into temptation.

The King was so distressed when he heard it that he was almost overcome
by grief. But he took heart and tried to comfort his daughters, who
looked frightened to death. He saw that what had happened had happened,
and that a thousand words would not alter matters by a hair’s-breadth.

Well, these events had almost been forgotten when one fine day a prince
from the East appeared at the Court and asked the King for the hand of
his eldest daughter. The King gladly gave his consent. A great wedding
banquet was prepared, and after three days of feasting the happy pair
were accompanied to the frontier with much ceremony and rejoicing.

After some time the same thing befell the second daughter, who was
wooed and won by a prince from the West.

Now when the young Princess saw that everything fell out exactly as had
been written in the book, she grew very sad. She refused to eat, and
would not put on her fine clothes nor go out walking, and declared that
she would rather die than become a laughing-stock to the world. But the
King would not allow her to do anything so wrong, and he comforted her
in all possible ways.

So the time passed, till lo and behold! one fine day an enormous pig
from the North walked into the palace, and going straight up to the
King said, ‘Hail! oh King. May your life be as prosperous and bright as
sunrise on a clear day!’

‘I am glad to see you well, friend,’ answered the King, ‘but what wind
has brought you hither?’

‘I come a-wooing,’ replied the Pig.

Now the King was astonished to hear so fine a speech from a Pig, and at
once it occurred to him that something strange was the matter. He would
gladly have turned the Pig’s thoughts in another direction, as he did
not wish to give him the Princess for a wife; but when he heard that
the Court and the whole street were full of all the pigs in the world
he saw that there was no escape, and that he must give his consent. The
Pig was not satisfied with mere promises, but insisted that the wedding
should take place within a week, and would not go away till the King
had sworn a royal oath upon it.

The King then sent for his daughter, and advised her to submit to fate,
as there was nothing else to be done. And he added:

‘My child, the words and whole behaviour of this Pig are quite unlike
those of other pigs. I do not myself believe that he always was a pig.
Depend upon it some magic or witchcraft has been at work. Obey him, and
do everything that he wishes, and I feel sure that Heaven will shortly
send you release.’

‘If you wish me to do this, dear father, I will do it,’ replied the
girl.

In the meantime the wedding-day drew near. After the marriage, the Pig
and his bride set out for his home in one of the royal carriages. On
the way they passed a great bog, and the Pig ordered the carriage to
stop, and got out and rolled about in the mire till he was covered with
mud from head to foot; then he got back into the carriage and told his
wife to kiss him. What was the poor girl to do? She bethought herself
of her father’s words, and, pulling out her pocket handkerchief, she
gently wiped the Pig’s snout and kissed it.

By the time they reached the Pig’s dwelling, which stood in a thick
wood, it was quite dark. They sat down quietly for a little, as they
were tired after their drive; then they had supper together, and lay
down to rest. During the night the Princess noticed that the Pig had
changed into a man. She was not a little surprised, but remembering her
father’s words, she took courage, determined to wait and see what would
happen.

And now she noticed that every night the Pig became a man, and every
morning he was changed into a Pig before she awoke. This happened
several nights running, and the Princess could not understand it at
all. Clearly her husband must be bewitched. In time she grew quite fond
of him, he was so kind and gentle.

One fine day as she was sitting alone she saw an old witch go past. She
felt quite excited, as it was so long since she had seen a human being,
and she called out to the old woman to come and talk to her. Among
other things the witch told her that she understood all magic arts, and
that she could foretell the future, and knew the healing powers of
herbs and plants.

‘I shall be grateful to you all my life, old dame,’ said the Princess,
‘if you will tell me what is the matter with my husband. Why is he a
Pig by day and a human being by night?’

‘I was just going to tell you that one thing, my dear, to show you what
a good fortune-teller I am. If you like, I will give you a herb to
break the spell.’

‘If you will only give it to me,’ said the Princess, ‘I will give you
anything you choose to ask for, for I cannot bear to see him in this
state.’

‘Here, then, my dear child,’ said the witch, ‘take this thread, but do
not let him know about it, for if he did it would lose its healing
power. At night, when he is asleep, you must get up very quietly, and
fasten the thread round his left foot as firmly as possible; and you
will see in the morning he will not have changed back into a Pig, but
will still be a man. I do not want any reward. I shall be sufficiently
repaid by knowing that you are happy. It almost breaks my heart to
think of all you have suffered, and I only wish I had known it sooner,
as I should have come to your rescue at once.’

When the old witch had gone away the Princess hid the thread very
carefully, and at night she got up quietly, and with a beating heart
she bound the thread round her husband’s foot. Just as she was pulling
the knot tight there was a crack, and the thread broke, for it was
rotten.

Her husband awoke with a start, and said to her, ‘Unhappy woman, what
have you done? Three days more and this unholy spell would have fallen
from me, and now, who knows how long I may have to go about in this
disgusting shape? I must leave you at once, and we shall not meet again
until you have worn out three pairs of iron shoes and blunted a steel
staff in your search for me.’ So saying he disappeared.

Now, when the Princess was left alone she began to weep and moan in a
way that was pitiful to hear; but when she saw that her tears and
groans did her no good, she got up, determined to go wherever fate
should lead her.

On reaching a town, the first thing she did was to order three pairs of
iron sandals and a steel staff, and having made these preparations for
her journey, she set out in search of her husband. On and on she
wandered over nine seas and across nine continents; through forests
with trees whose stems were as thick as beer-barrels; stumbling and
knocking herself against the fallen branches, then picking herself up
and going on; the boughs of the trees hit her face, and the shrubs tore
her hands, but on she went, and never looked back. At last, wearied
with her long journey and worn out and overcome with sorrow, but still
with hope at her heart, she reached a house.

Now who do you think lived there? The Moon.

The Princess knocked at the door, and begged to be let in that she
might rest a little. The mother of the Moon, when she saw her sad
plight, felt a great pity for her, and took her in and nursed and
tended her. And while she was here the Princess had a little baby.

One day the mother of the Moon asked her:

‘How was it possible for you, a mortal, to get hither to the house of
the Moon?’

Then the poor Princess told her all that happened to her, and added ‘I
shall always be thankful to Heaven for leading me hither, and grateful
to you that you took pity on me and on my baby, and did not leave us to
die. Now I beg one last favour of you; can your daughter, the Moon,
tell me where my husband is?’

‘She cannot tell you that, my child,’ replied the goddess, ‘but, if you
will travel towards the East until you reach the dwelling of the Sun,
he may be able to tell you something.’

Then she gave the Princess a roast chicken to eat, and warned her to be
very careful not to lose any of the bones, because they might be of
great use to her.

When the Princess had thanked her once more for her hospitality and for
her good advice, and had thrown away one pair of shoes that were worn
out, and had put on a second pair, she tied up the chicken bones in a
bundle, and taking her baby in her arms and her staff in her hand, she
set out once more on her wanderings.

On and on and on she went across bare sandy deserts, where the roads
were so heavy that for every two steps that she took forwards she fell
back one; but she struggled on till she had passed these dreary plains;
next she crossed high rocky mountains, jumping from crag to crag and
from peak to peak. Sometimes she would rest for a little on a mountain,
and then start afresh always farther and farther on. She had to cross
swamps and to scale mountain peaks covered with flints, so that her
feet and knees and elbows were all torn and bleeding, and sometimes she
came to a precipice across which she could not jump, and she had to
crawl round on hands and knees, helping herself along with her staff.
At length, wearied to death, she reached the palace in which the Sun
lived. She knocked and begged for admission. The mother of the Sun
opened the door, and was astonished at beholding a mortal from the
distant earthly shores, and wept with pity when she heard of all she
had suffered. Then, having promised to ask her son about the Princess’s
husband, she hid her in the cellar, so that the Sun might notice
nothing on his return home, for he was always in a bad temper when he
came in at night. The next day the Princess feared that things would
not go well with her, for the Sun had noticed that some one from the
other world had been in the palace. But his mother had soothed him with
soft words, assuring him that this was not so. So the Princess took
heart when she saw how kindly she was treated, and asked:

‘But how in the world is it possible for the Sun to be angry? He is so
beautiful and so good to mortals.’

‘This is how it happens,’ replied the Sun’s mother. ‘In the morning
when he stands at the gates of paradise he is happy, and smiles on the
whole world, but during the day he gets cross, because he sees all the
evil deeds of men, and that is why his heat becomes so scorching; but
in the evening he is both sad and angry, for he stands at the gates of
death; that is his usual course. From there he comes back here.’

She then told the Princess that she had asked about her husband, but
that her son had replied that he knew nothing about him, and that her
only hope was to go and inquire of the Wind.

Before the Princess left the mother of the Sun gave her a roast chicken
to eat, and advised her to take great care of the bones, which she did,
wrapping them up in a bundle. She then threw away her second pair of
shoes, which were quite worn out, and with her child on her arm and her
staff in her hand, she set forth on her way to the Wind.

In these wanderings she met with even greater difficulties than before,
for she came upon one mountain of flints after another, out of which
tongues of fire would flame up; she passed through woods which had
never been trodden by human foot, and had to cross fields of ice and
avalanches of snow. The poor woman nearly died of these hardships, but
she kept a brave heart, and at length she reached an enormous cave in
the side of a mountain. This was where the Wind lived. There was a
little door in the railing in front of the cave, and here the Princess
knocked and begged for admission. The mother of the Wind had pity on
her and took her in, that she might rest a little. Here too she was
hidden away, so that the Wind might not notice her.

The next morning the mother of the Wind told her that her husband was
living in a thick wood, so thick that no axe had been able to cut a way
through it; here he had built himself a sort of house by placing trunks
of trees together and fastening them with withes and here he lived
alone, shunning human kind.

After the mother of the Wind had given the Princess a chicken to eat,
and had warned her to take care of the bones, she advised her to go by
the Milky Way, which at night lies across the sky, and to wander on
till she reached her goal.

Having thanked the old woman with tears in her eyes for her
hospitality, and for the good news she had given her, the Princess set
out on her journey and rested neither night nor day, so great was her
longing to see her husband again. On and on she walked until her last
pair of shoes fell in pieces. So she threw them away and went on with
bare feet, not heeding the bogs nor the thorns that wounded her, nor
the stones that bruised her. At last she reached a beautiful green
meadow on the edge of a wood. Her heart was cheered by the sight of the
flowers and the soft cool grass, and she sat down and rested for a
little. But hearing the birds chirping to their mates among the trees
made her think with longing of her husband, and she wept bitterly, and
taking her child in her arms, and her bundle of chicken bones on her
shoulder, she entered the wood.

For three days and three nights she struggled through it, but could
find nothing. She was quite worn out with weariness and hunger, and
even her staff was no further help to her, for in her many wanderings
it had become quite blunted. She almost gave up in despair, but made
one last great effort, and suddenly in a thicket she came upon the sort
of house that the mother of the Wind had described. It had no windows,
and the door was up in the roof. Round the house she went, in search of
steps, but could find none. What was she to do? How was she to get in?
She thought and thought, and tried in vain to climb up to the door.
Then suddenly she be-thought her of the chicken bones that she had
dragged all that weary way, and she said to herself: ‘They would not
all have told me to take such good care of these bones if they had not
had some good reason for doing so. Perhaps now, in my hour of need,
they may be of use to me.’

So she took the bones out of her bundle, and having thought for a
moment, she placed the two ends together. To her surprise they stuck
tight; then she added the other bones, till she had two long poles the
height of the house; these she placed against the wall, at a distance
of a yard from one another. Across them she placed the other bones,
piece by piece, like the steps of a ladder. As soon as one step was
finished she stood upon it and made the next one, and then the next,
till she was close to the door. But just as she got near the top she
noticed that there were no bones left for the last rung of the ladder.
What was she to do? Without that last step the whole ladder was
useless. She must have lost one of the bones. Then suddenly an idea
came to her. Taking a knife she chopped off her little finger, and
placing it on the last step, it stuck as the bones had done. The ladder
was complete, and with her child on her arm she entered the door of the
house. Here she found everything in perfect order. Having taken some
food, she laid the child down to sleep in a trough that was on the
floor, and sat down herself to rest.

When her husband, the Pig, came back to his house, he was startled by
what he saw. At first he could not believe his eyes, and stared at the
ladder of bones, and at the little finger on the top of it. He felt
that some fresh magic must be at work, and in his terror he almost
turned away from the house; but then a better idea came to him, and he
changed himself into a dove, so that no witchcraft could have power
over him, and flew into the room without touching the ladder. Here he
found a woman rocking a child. At the sight of her, looking so changed
by all that she had suffered for his sake, his heart was moved by such
love and longing and by so great a pity that he suddenly became a man.

The Princess stood up when she saw him, and her heart beat with fear,
for she did not know him. But when he had told her who he was, in her
great joy she forgot all her sufferings, and they seemed as nothing to
her. He was a very handsome man, as straight as a fir tree. They sat
down together and she told him all her adventures, and he wept with
pity at the tale. And then he told her his own history.

‘I am a King’s son. Once when my father was fighting against some
dragons, who were the scourge of our country, I slew the youngest
dragon. His mother, who was a witch, cast a spell over me and changed
me into a Pig. It was she who in the disguise of an old woman gave you
the thread to bind round my foot. So that instead of the three days
that had to run before the spell was broken, I was forced to remain a
Pig for three more years. Now that we have suffered for each other, and
have found each other again, let us forget the past.’

And in their joy they kissed one another.

Next morning they set out early to return to his father’s kingdom.
Great was the rejoicing of all the people when they saw him and his
wife; his father and his mother embraced them both, and there was
feasting in the palace for three days and three nights.

Then they set out to see her father. The old King nearly went out of
his mind with joy at beholding his daughter again. When she had told
him all her adventures, he said to her:

‘Did not I tell you that I was quite sure that that creature who wooed
and won you as his wife had not been born a Pig? You see, my child, how
wise you were in doing what I told you.’

And as the King was old and had no heirs, he put them on the throne in
his place. And they ruled as only kings rule who have suffered many
things. And if they are not dead they are still living and ruling
happily.[8]

 [8] Rumänische Märchen übersetzt von Nite Kremnitz.




THE NORKA


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen. They had three sons, two
of them with their wits about them, but the third a simpleton. Now the
King had a deer park in which were quantities of wild animals of
different kinds. Into that park there used to come a huge beast—Norka
was its name—and do fearful mischief, devouring some of the animals
every night. The King did all he could, but he was unable to destroy
it. So at last he called his sons together and said, ‘Whoever will
destroy the Norka, to him will I give the half of my kingdom.’

Well, the eldest son undertook the task. As soon as it was night, he
took his weapons and set out. But before he reached the park, he went
into a traktir (or tavern), and there he spent the whole night in
revelry. When he came to his senses it was too late; the day had
already dawned. He felt himself disgraced in the eyes of his father,
but there was no help for it. The next day the second son went, and did
just the same. Their father scolded them both soundly, and there was an
end of it.

Well, on the third day the youngest son undertook the task. They all
laughed him to scorn, because he was so stupid, feeling sure he
wouldn’t do anything. But he took his arms, and went straight into the
park, and sat down on the grass in such a position that the moment he
went asleep his weapons would prick him, and he would awake.

Presently the midnight hour sounded. The earth began to shake, and the
Norka came rushing up, and burst right through the fence into the park,
so huge was it. The Prince pulled himself together, leapt to his feet,
crossed himself, and went straight at the beast. It fled back, and the
Prince ran after it. But he soon saw that he couldn’t catch it on foot,
so he hastened to the stable, laid his hands on the best horse there,
and set off in pursuit. Presently he came up with the beast, and they
began a fight. They fought and fought; the Prince gave the beast three
wounds. At last they were both utterly exhausted, so they lay down to
take a short rest. But the moment the Prince closed his eyes, up jumped
the beast and took to flight. The Prince’s horse awoke him; up he
jumped in a moment, and set off again in pursuit, caught up the beast,
and again began fighting with it. Again the Prince gave the beast three
wounds, and then he and the beast lay down again to rest. Thereupon
away fled the beast as before. The Prince caught it up, and again gave
it three wounds. But all of a sudden, just as the Prince began chasing
it for the fourth time, the beast fled to a great white stone, tilted
it up, and escaped into the other world, crying out to the Prince:
‘Then only will you overcome me, when you enter here.’

The Prince went home, told his father all that had happened, and asked
him to have a leather rope plaited, long enough to reach to the other
world. His father ordered this to be done. When the rope was made, the
Prince called for his brothers, and he and they, having taken servants
with them, and everything that was needed for a whole year, set out for
the place where the beast had disappeared under the stone. When they
got there, they built a palace on the spot, and lived in it for some
time. But when everything was ready, the youngest brother said to the
others: ‘Now, brothers, who is going to lift this stone?’

Neither of them could so much as stir it, but as soon as he touched it,
away it flew to a distance, though it was ever so big—big as a hill.
And when he had flung the stone aside, he spoke a second time to his
brothers, saying:

‘Who is going into the other world, to overcome the Norka?’

Neither of them offered to do so. Then he laughed at them for being
such cowards, and said:

‘Well, brothers, farewell! Lower me into the other world, and don’t go
away from here, but as soon as the cord is jerked, pull it up.’

His brothers lowered him accordingly, and when he had reached the other
world, underneath the earth, he went on his way. He walked and walked.
Presently he espied a horse with rich trappings, and it said to him:

‘Hail, Prince Ivan! Long have I awaited thee!’

He mounted the horse and rode on—rode and rode, until he saw standing
before him a palace made of copper. He entered the courtyard, tied up
his horse, and went indoors. In one of the rooms a dinner was laid out.
He sat down and dined, and then went into a bedroom. There he found a
bed, on which he lay down to rest. Presently there came in a lady, more
beautiful than can be imagined anywhere but in a fairy tale, who said:

‘Thou who art in my house, name thyself! If thou art an old man, thou
shalt be my father; if a middle-aged man, my brother; but if a young
man, thou shalt be my husband dear. And if thou art a woman, and an old
one, thou shalt be my grandmother; if middle-aged, my mother; and if a
girl, thou shalt be my own sister.’

Thereupon he came forth. And when she saw him she was delighted with
him, and said:

‘Wherefore, O Prince Ivan—my husband dear shalt thou be!—wherefore hast
thou come hither?’

Then he told her all that had happened, and she said:

‘That beast which thou wishest to overcome is my brother. He is staying
just now with my second sister, who lives not far from here in a silver
palace. I bound up three of the wounds which thou didst give him.’

Well, after this they drank, and enjoyed themselves, and held sweet
converse together, and then the Prince took leave of her, and went on
to the second sister, the one who lived in the silver palace, and with
her also he stayed awhile. She told him that her brother Norka was then
at her youngest sister’s. So he went on to the youngest sister, who
lived in a golden palace. She told him that her brother was at that
time asleep on the blue sea, and she gave him a sword of steel and a
draught of the Water of Strength, and she told him to cut off her
brother’s head at a single stroke. And when he had heard these things,
he went his way.

And when the Prince came to the blue sea, he looked—there slept the
Norka on a stone in the middle of the sea; and when it snored, the
water was agitated for seven miles around. The Prince crossed himself,
went up to it, and smote it on the head with his sword. The head jumped
off, saying the while, ‘Well, I’m done for now!’ and rolled far away
into the sea.

After killing the beast, the Prince went back again, picking up all the
three sisters by the way, with the intention of taking them out into
the upper world: for they all loved him and would not be separated from
him. Each of them turned her palace into an egg—for they were all
enchantresses—and they taught him how to turn the eggs into palaces,
and back again, and they handed over the eggs to him. And then they all
went to the place from which they had to be hoisted into the upper
world. And when they came to where the rope was, the Prince took hold
of it and made the maidens fast to it. Then he jerked away at the rope
and his brothers began to haul it up. And when they had hauled it up,
and had set eyes on the wondrous maidens, they went aside and said:
‘Let’s lower the rope, pull our brother part of the way up, and then
cut the rope. Perhaps he’ll be killed; but then if he isn’t, he’ll
never give us these beauties as wives.’

So when they had agreed on this, they lowered the rope. But their
brother was no fool; he guessed what they were at, so he fastened the
rope to a stone, and then gave it a pull. His brothers hoisted the
stone to a great height, and then cut the rope. Down fell the stone and
broke in pieces; the Prince poured forth tears and went away. Well, he
walked and walked. Presently a storm arose; the lightning flashed, the
thunder roared, the rain fell in torrents. He went up to a tree in
order to take shelter under it, and on that tree he saw some young
birds which were being thoroughly drenched. So he took off his coat and
covered them over with it, and he himself sat down under the tree.
Presently there came flying a bird—such a big one that the light was
blotted out by it. It had been dark there before, but now it became
darker still. Now this was the mother of those small birds which the
Prince had covered up. And when the bird had come flying up, she
perceived that her little ones were covered over, and she said, ‘Who
has wrapped up my nestlings?’ and presently, seeing the Prince, she
added: ‘Didst thou do that? Thanks! In return, ask of me anything thou
desirest. I will do anything for thee.’

‘Then carry me into the other world,’ he replied.

‘Make me a large vessel with a partition in the middle,’ she said;
‘catch all sorts of game, and put them into one half of it, and into
the other half pour water; so that there may be meat and drink for me.’

All this the Prince did. Then the bird—having taken the vessel on her
back, with the Prince sitting in the middle of it—began to fly. And
after flying some distance she brought him to his journey’s end, took
leave of him, and flew away back. But he went to the house of a certain
tailor, and engaged himself as his servant. So much the worse for wear
was he, so thoroughly had he altered in appearance, that nobody would
have suspected him of being a Prince.

Having entered into the service of this master, the Prince began to ask
what was going on in that country. And his master replied: ‘Our two
Princes—for the third one has disappeared—have brought away brides from
the other world, and want to marry them, but those brides refuse. For
they insist on having all their wedding-clothes made for them first,
exactly like those which they used to have in the other world, and that
without being measured for them. The King has called all the workmen
together, but not one of them will undertake to do it.’

The Prince, having heard all this, said, ‘Go to the King, master, and
tell him that you will provide everything that’s in your line.’

‘However can I undertake to make clothes of that sort? I work for quite
common folks,’ says his master.

‘Go along, master! I will answer for everything,’ says the Prince.

So the tailor went. The King was delighted that at least one good
workman had been found, and gave him as much money as ever he wanted.
When his tailor had settled everything, he went home. And the Prince
said to him:

‘Now then, pray to God, and lie down to sleep; to-morrow all will be
ready.’ And the tailor followed his lad’s advice, and went to bed.

Midnight sounded. The Prince arose, went out of the city into the
fields, took out of his pocket the eggs which the maidens had given
him, and, as they had taught him, turned them into three palaces. Into
each of these he entered, took the maidens’ robes, went out again,
turned the palaces back into eggs, and went home. And when he got there
he hung up the robes on the wall, and lay down to sleep.

Early in the morning his master awoke, and behold! there hung such
robes as he had never seen before, all shining with gold and silver and
precious stones. He was delighted, and he seized them and carried them
off to the King. When the Princesses saw that the clothes were those
which had been theirs in the other world, they guessed that Prince Ivan
was in this world, so they exchanged glances with each other, but they
held their peace. And the master, having handed over the clothes, went
home, but he no longer found his dear journeyman there. For the Prince
had gone to a shoemaker’s, and him too he sent to work for the King;
and in the same way he went the round of all the artificers, and they
all proffered him thanks, inasmuch as through him they were enriched by
the King.

By the time the princely workman had gone the round of all the
artificers, the Princesses had received what they had asked for; all
their clothes were just like what they had been in the other world.
Then they wept bitterly because the Prince had not come, and it was
impossible for them to hold out any longer; it was necessary that they
should be married. But when they were ready for the wedding, the
youngest bride said to the King:

‘Allow me, my father, to go and give alms to the beggars.’

He gave her leave, and she went and began bestowing alms upon them, and
examining them closely. And when she had come to one of them, and was
going to give him some money, she caught sight of the ring which she
had given to the Prince in the other world, and her sisters’ rings
too—for it really was he. So she seized him by the hand, and brought
him into the hall, and said to the King:

‘Here is he who brought us out of the other world. His brothers forbade
us to say that he was alive, threatening to slay us if we did.’

Then the King was wroth with those sons, and punished them as he
thought best. And afterwards three weddings were celebrated.




THE WONDERFUL BIRCH


Once upon a time there were a man and a woman, who had an only
daughter. Now it happened that one of their sheep went astray, and they
set out to look for it, and searched and searched, each in a different
part of the wood. Then the good wife met a witch, who said to her:

‘If you spit, you miserable creature, if you spit into the sheath of my
knife, or if you run between my legs, I shall change you into a black
sheep.’

The woman neither spat, nor did she run between her legs, but yet the
witch changed her into a sheep. Then she made herself look exactly like
the woman, and called out to the good man:

‘Ho, old man, halloa! I have found the sheep already!’

The man thought the witch was really his wife, and he did not know that
his wife was the sheep; so he went home with her, glad at heart because
his sheep was found. When they were safe at home the witch said to the
man:

‘Look here, old man, we must really kill that sheep lest it run away to
the wood again.’

The man, who was a peaceable quiet sort of fellow, made no objections,
but simply said:

‘Good, let us do so.’

The daughter, however, had overheard their talk, and she ran to the
flock and lamented aloud:

‘Oh, dear little mother, they are going to slaughter you!’

‘Well, then, if they do slaughter me,’ was the black sheep’s answer,
‘eat you neither the meat nor the broth that is made of me, but gather
all my bones, and bury them by the edge of the field.’

Shortly after this they took the black sheep from the flock and
slaughtered it. The witch made pease-soup of it, and set it before the
daughter. But the girl remembered her mother’s warning. She did not
touch the soup, but she carried the bones to the edge of the field and
buried them there; and there sprang up on the spot a birch tree—a very
lovely birch tree.

Some time had passed away—who can tell how long they might have been
living there?—when the witch, to whom a child had been born in the
meantime, began to take an ill-will to the man’s daughter, and to
torment her in all sorts of ways.

Now it happened that a great festival was to be held at the palace, and
the King had commanded that all the people should be invited, and that
this proclamation should be made:

        ‘Come, people all!
Poor and wretched, one and all!
Blind and crippled though ye be,
Mount your steeds or come by sea.’


And so they drove into the King’s feast all the outcasts, and the
maimed, and the halt, and the blind. In the good man’s house, too,
preparations were made to go to the palace. The witch said to the man:

‘Go you on in front, old man, with our youngest; I will give the elder
girl work to keep her from being dull in our absence.’

So the man took the child and set out. But the witch kindled a fire on
the hearth, threw a potful of barleycorns among the cinders, and said
to the girl:

‘If you have not picked the barley out of the ashes, and put it all
back in the pot before nightfall, I shall eat you up!’

Then she hastened after the others, and the poor girl stayed at home
and wept. She tried to be sure to pick up the grains of barley, but she
soon saw how useless her labour was; and so she went in her sore
trouble to the birch tree on her mother’s grave, and cried and cried,
because her mother lay dead beneath the sod and could help her no
longer. In the midst of her grief she suddenly heard her mother’s voice
speak from the grave, and say to her:

‘Why do you weep, little daughter?’

‘The witch has scattered barleycorns on the hearth, and bid me pick
them out of the ashes,’ said the girl; ‘that is why I weep, dear little
mother.’

‘Do not weep,’ said her mother consolingly. ‘Break off one of my
branches, and strike the hearth with it crosswise, and all will be put
right.’ The girl did so. She struck the hearth with the birchen branch,
and lo! the barleycorns flew into the pot, and the hearth was clean.
Then she went back to the birch tree and laid the branch upon the
grave. Then her mother bade her bathe on one side of the stem, dry
herself on another, and dress on the third. When the girl had done all
that, she had grown so lovely that no one on earth could rival her.
Splendid clothing was given to her, and a horse, with hair partly of
gold, partly of silver, and partly of something more precious still.
The girl sprang into the saddle, and rode as swift as an arrow to the
palace. As she turned into the courtyard of the castle the King’s son
came out to meet her, tied her steed to a pillar, and led her in. He
never left her side as they passed through the castle rooms; and all
the people gazed at her, and wondered who the lovely maiden was, and
from what castle she came; but no one knew her—no one knew anything
about her. At the banquet the Prince invited her to sit next him in the
place of honour; but the witch’s daughter gnawed the bones under the
table. The Prince did not see her, and thinking it was a dog, he gave
her such a push with his foot that her arm was broken. Are you not
sorry for the witch’s daughter? It was not her fault that her mother
was a witch.

Towards evening the good man’s daughter thought it was time to go home;
but as she went, her ring caught on the latch of the door, for the
King’s son had had it smeared with tar. She did not take time to pull
it off, but, hastily unfastening her horse from the pillar, she rode
away beyond the castle walls as swift as an arrow. Arrived at home, she
took off her clothes by the birch tree, left her horse standing there,
and hastened to her place behind the stove. In a short time the man and
the woman came home again too, and the witch said to the girl:

‘Ah! you poor thing, there you are to be sure! You don’t know what fine
times we have had at the palace! The King’s son carried my daughter
about, but the poor thing fell and broke her arm.’

The girl knew well how matters really stood, but she pretended to know
nothing about it, and sat dumb behind the stove.

The next day they were invited again to the King’s banquet.

‘Hey! old man,’ said the witch, ‘get on your clothes as quick as you
can; we are bidden to the feast. Take you the child; I will give the
other one work, lest she weary.’

She kindled the fire, threw a potful of hemp seed among the ashes, and
said to the girl:

‘If you do not get this sorted, and all the seed back into the pot, I
shall kill you!’

The girl wept bitterly; then she went to the birch tree, washed herself
on one side of it and dried herself on the other; and this time still
finer clothes were given to her, and a very beautiful steed. She broke
off a branch of the birch tree, struck the hearth with it, so that the
seeds flew into the pot, and then hastened to the castle.

Again the King’s son came out to meet her, tied her horse to a pillar,
and led her into the banqueting hall. At the feast the girl sat next
him in the place of honour, as she had done the day before. But the
witch’s daughter gnawed bones under the table, and the Prince gave her
a push by mistake, which broke her leg—he had never noticed her
crawling about among the people’s feet. She was _very_ unlucky!

The good man’s daughter hastened home again betimes, but the King’s son
had smeared the door-posts with tar, and the girl’s golden circlet
stuck to it. She had not time to look for it, but sprang to the saddle
and rode like an arrow to the birch tree. There she left her horse and
her fine clothes, and said to her mother:

‘I have lost my circlet at the castle; the door-post was tarred, and it
stuck fast.’

‘And even had you lost two of them,’ answered her mother, ‘I would give
you finer ones.’

Then the girl hastened home, and when her father came home from the
feast with the witch, she was in her usual place behind the stove. Then
the witch said to her:

‘You poor thing! what is there to see here compared with what _we_ have
seen at the palace? The King’s son carried my daughter from one room to
another; he let her fall, ‘tis true, and my child’s foot was broken.’

The man’s daughter held her peace all the time, and busied herself
about the hearth.

The night passed, and when the day began to dawn, the witch awakened
her husband, crying:

‘Hi! get up, old man! We are bidden to the royal banquet.’

So the old man got up. Then the witch gave him the child, saying:

‘Take you the little one; I will give the other girl work to do, else
she will weary at home alone.’

She did as usual. This time it was a dish of milk she poured upon the
ashes, saying:

‘If you do not get all the milk into the dish again before I come home,
you will suffer for it.’

How frightened the girl was this time! She ran to the birch tree, and
by its magic power her task was accomplished; and then she rode away to
the palace as before. When she got to the courtyard she found the
Prince waiting for her. He led her into the hall, where she was highly
honoured; but the witch’s daughter sucked the bones under the table,
and crouching at the people’s feet she got an eye knocked out, poor
thing! Now no one knew any more than before about the good man’s
daughter, no one knew whence she came; but the Prince had had the
threshold smeared with tar, and as she fled her gold slippers stuck to
it. She reached the birch tree, and laying aside her finery, she said:

‘Alas I dear little mother, I have lost my gold slippers!’

‘Let them be,’ was her mother’s reply; ‘if you need them I shall give
you finer ones.’

Scarcely was she in her usual place behind the stove when her father
came home with the witch. Immediately the witch began to mock her,
saying:

‘Ah! you poor thing, there is nothing for you to see here, and _we_—ah:
what great things we have seen at the palace! My little girl was
carried about again, but had the ill-luck to fall and get her eye
knocked out. You stupid thing, you, what do you know about anything?’

‘Yes, indeed, what can I know?’ replied the girl; ‘I had enough to do
to get the hearth clean.’

Now the Prince had kept all the things the girl had lost, and he soon
set about finding the owner of them. For this purpose a great banquet
was given on the fourth day, and all the people were invited to the
palace. The witch got ready to go too. She tied a wooden beetle on
where her child’s foot should have been, a log of wood instead of an
arm, and stuck a bit of dirt in the empty socket for an eye, and took
the child with her to the castle. When all the people were gathered
together, the King’s son stepped in among the crowd and cried:

‘The maiden whose finger this ring slips over, whose head this golden
hoop encircles, and whose foot this shoe fits, shall be my bride.’

What a great trying on there was now among them all! The things would
fit no one, however.

‘The cinder wench is not here,’ said the Prince at last; ‘go and fetch
her, and let her try on the things.’

So the girl was fetched, and the Prince was just going to hand the
ornaments to her, when the witch held him back, saying:

‘Don’t give them to her; she soils everything with cinders; give them
to my daughter rather.’

Well, then the Prince gave the witch’s daughter the ring, and the woman
filed and pared away at her daughter’s finger till the ring fitted. It
was the same with the circlet and the shoes of gold. The witch would
not allow them to be handed to the cinder wench; she worked at her own
daughter’s head and feet till she got the things forced on. What was to
be done now? The Prince had to take the witch’s daughter for his bride
whether he would or no; he sneaked away to her father’s house with her,
however, for he was ashamed to hold the wedding festivities at the
palace with so strange a bride. Some days passed, and at last he had to
take his bride home to the palace, and he got ready to do so. Just as
they were taking leave, the kitchen wench sprang down from her place by
the stove, on the pretext of fetching something from the cowhouse, and
in going by she whispered in the Prince’s ear as he stood in the yard:

‘Alas! dear Prince, do not rob me of my silver and my gold.’

Thereupon the King’s son recognised the cinder wench; so he took both
the girls with him, and set out. After they had gone some little way
they came to the bank of a river, and the Prince threw the witch’s
daughter across to serve as a bridge, and so got over with the cinder
wench. There lay the witch’s daughter then, like a bridge over the
river, and could not stir, though her heart was consumed with grief. No
help was near, so she cried at last in her anguish:

‘May there grow a golden hemlock out of my body! perhaps my mother will
know me by that token.’

Scarcely had she spoken when a golden hemlock sprang up from her, and
stood upon the bridge.

Now, as soon as the Prince had got rid of the witch’s daughter he
greeted the cinder wench as his bride, and they wandered together to
the birch tree which grew upon the mother’s grave. There they received
all sorts of treasures and riches, three sacks full of gold, and as
much silver, and a splendid steed, which bore them home to the palace.
There they lived a long time together, and the young wife bore a son to
the Prince. Immediately word was brought to the witch that her daughter
had borne a son—for they all believed the young King’s wife to be the
witch’s daughter.

‘So, so,’ said the witch to herself; ‘I had better away with my gift
for the infant, then.’

And so saying she set out. Thus it happened that she came to the bank
of the river, and there she saw the beautiful golden hemlock growing in
the middle of the bridge, and when she began to cut it down to take to
her grandchild, she heard a voice moaning:

‘Alas! dear mother, do not cut me so!’

‘Are you here?’ demanded the witch.

‘Indeed I am, dear little mother,’ answered the daughter. ‘They threw
me across the river to make a bridge of me.’

In a moment the witch had the bridge shivered to atoms, and then she
hastened away to the palace. Stepping up to the young Queen’s bed, she
began to try her magic arts upon her, saying:

‘Spit, you wretch, on the blade of my knife; bewitch my knife’s blade
for me, and I shall change you into a reindeer of the forest.’

‘Are you there again to bring trouble upon me?’ said the young woman.

She neither spat nor did anything else, but still the witch changed her
into a reindeer, and smuggled her own daughter into her place as the
Prince’s wife. But now the child grew restless and cried, because it
missed its mother’s care. They took it to the court, and tried to
pacify it in every conceivable way, but its crying never ceased.

‘What makes the child so restless?’ asked the Prince, and he went to a
wise widow woman to ask her advice.

‘Ay, ay, your own wife is not at home,’ said the widow woman; ‘she is
living like a reindeer in the wood; you have the witch’s daughter for a
wife now, and the witch herself for a mother-in-law.’

‘Is there any way of getting my own wife back from the wood again?’
asked the Prince.

‘Give me the child,’ answered the widow woman. ‘I’ll take it with me
to-morrow when I go to drive the cows to the wood. I’ll make a rustling
among the birch leaves and a trembling among the aspens—perhaps the boy
will grow quiet when he hears it.’

‘Yes, take the child away, take it to the wood with you to quiet it,’
said the Prince, and led the widow woman into the castle.

‘How now? you are going to send the child away to the wood?’ said the
witch in a suspicious tone, and tried to interfere.

But the King’s son stood firm by what he had commanded, and said:

‘Carry the child about the wood; perhaps that will pacify it.’

So the widow woman took the child to the wood. She came to the edge of
a marsh, and seeing a herd of reindeer there, she began all at once to
sing—

‘Little Bright-eyes, little Redskin,
Come nurse the child you bore!
    That bloodthirsty monster,
    That man-eater grim,
Shall nurse him, shall tend him no more.
    They may threaten and force as they will,
    He turns from her, shrinks from her still,’


and immediately the reindeer drew near, and nursed and tended the child
the whole day long; but at nightfall it had to follow the herd, and
said to the widow woman:

‘Bring me the child to-morrow, and again the following day; after that
I must wander with the herd far away to other lands.’

The following morning the widow woman went back to the castle to fetch
the child. The witch interfered, of course, but the Prince said:

‘Take it, and carry it about in the open air; the boy is quieter at
night, to be sure, when he has been in the wood all day.’

So the widow took the child in her arms, and carried it to the marsh in
the forest. There she sang as on the preceding day—

‘Little Bright-eyes, little Redskin,
Come nurse the child you bore!
    That bloodthirsty monster,
    That man-eater grim,
Shall nurse him, shall tend him no more.
    They may threaten and force as they will,
    He turns from her, shrinks from her still,’


and immediately the reindeer left the herd and came to the child, and
tended it as on the day before. And so it was that the child throve,
till not a finer boy was to be seen anywhere. But the King’s son had
been pondering over all these things, and he said to the widow woman:

‘Is there no way of changing the reindeer into a human being again?’

‘I don’t rightly know,’ was her answer. ‘Come to the wood with me,
however; when the woman puts off her reindeer skin I shall comb her
head for her; whilst I am doing so you must burn the skin.’

Thereupon they both went to the wood with the child; scarcely were they
there when the reindeer appeared and nursed the child as before. Then
the widow woman said to the reindeer:

‘Since you are going far away to-morrow, and I shall not see you again,
let me comb your head for the last time, as a remembrance of you.’

Good; the young woman stript off the reindeer skin, and let the widow
woman do as she wished. In the meantime the King’s son threw the
reindeer skin into the fire unobserved.

‘What smells of singeing here?’ asked the young woman, and looking
round she saw her own husband. ‘Woe is me! you have burnt my skin. Why
did you do that?’

‘To give you back your human form again.’

‘Alack-a-day! I have nothing to cover me now, poor creature that I am!’
cried the young woman, and transformed herself first into a distaff,
then into a wooden beetle, then into a spindle, and into all imaginable
shapes. But all these shapes the King’s son went on destroying till she
stood before him in human form again.

Alas! wherefore take me home with you again,’ cried the young woman,
‘since the witch is sure to eat me up?’

‘She will not eat you up,’ answered her husband; and they started for
home with the child.

But when the witch wife saw them she ran away with her daughter, and if
she has not stopped she is running still, though at a great age. And
the Prince, and his wife, and the baby lived happy ever afterwards.[9]

 [9] From the Russo-Karelian.




JACK AND THE BEANSTALK


JACK SELLS THE COW

Once upon a time there was a poor widow who lived in a little cottage
with her only son Jack.

Jack was a giddy, thoughtless boy, but very kind-hearted and
affectionate. There had been a hard winter, and after it the poor woman
had suffered from fever and ague. Jack did no work as yet, and by
degrees they grew dreadfully poor. The widow saw that there was no
means of keeping Jack and herself from starvation but by selling her
cow; so one morning she said to her son, ‘I am too weak to go myself,
Jack, so you must take the cow to market for me, and sell her.’

Jack liked going to market to sell the cow very much; but as he was on
the way, he met a butcher who had some beautiful beans in his hand.
Jack stopped to look at them, and the butcher told the boy that they
were of great value, and persuaded the silly lad to sell the cow for
these beans.

When he brought them home to his mother instead of the money she
expected for her nice cow, she was very vexed and shed many tears,
scolding Jack for his folly. He was very sorry, and mother and son went
to bed very sadly that night; their last hope seemed gone.

At daybreak Jack rose and went out into the garden.

‘At least,’ he thought, ‘I will sow the wonderful beans. Mother says
that they are just common scarlet-runners, and nothing else; but I may
as well sow them.’

So he took a piece of stick, and made some holes in the ground, and put
in the beans.

That day they had very little dinner, and went sadly to bed, knowing
that for the next day there would be none and Jack, unable to sleep
from grief and vexation, got up at day-dawn and went out into the
garden.

What was his amazement to find that the beans had grown up in the
night, and climbed up and up till they covered the high cliff that
sheltered the cottage, and disappeared above it! The stalks had twined
and twisted themselves together till they formed quite a ladder.

‘It would be easy to climb it,’ thought Jack.

And, having thought of the experiment, he at once resolved to carry it
out, for Jack was a good climber. However, after his late mistake about
the cow, he thought he had better consult his mother first.

WONDERFUL GROWTH OF THE BEANSTALK

So Jack called his mother, and they both gazed in silent wonder at the
Beanstalk, which was not only of great height, but was thick enough to
bear Jack’s weight.

‘I wonder where it ends,’ said Jack to his mother; ‘I think I will
climb up and see.’

His mother wished him not to venture up this strange ladder, but Jack
coaxed her to give her consent to the attempt, for he was certain there
must be something wonderful in the Beanstalk; so at last she yielded to
his wishes.

Jack instantly began to climb, and went up and up on the ladder-like
bean till everything he had left behind him—the cottage, the village,
and even the tall church tower—looked quite little, and still he could
not see the top of the Beanstalk.

Jack felt a little tired, and thought for a moment that he would go
back again; but he was a very persevering boy, and he knew that the way
to succeed in anything is not to give up. So after resting for a moment
he went on.

After climbing higher and higher, till he grew afraid to look down for
fear he should be giddy, Jack at last reached the top of the Beanstalk,
and found himself in a beautiful country, finely wooded, with beautiful
meadows covered with sheep. A crystal stream ran through the pastures;
not far from the place where he had got off the Beanstalk stood a fine,
strong castle.

Jack wondered very much that he had never heard of or seen this castle
before; but when he reflected on the subject, he saw that it was as
much separated from the village by the perpendicular rock on which it
stood as if it were in another land.

While Jack was standing looking at the castle, a very strange-looking
woman came out of the wood, and advanced towards him.

She wore a pointed cap of quilted red satin turned up with ermine, her
hair streamed loose over her shoulders, and she walked with a staff.
Jack took off his cap and made her a bow.

‘If you please, ma’am,’ said he, ‘is this your house?’

‘No,’ said the old lady. ‘Listen, and I will tell you the story of that
castle.

‘Once upon a time there was a noble knight, who lived in this castle,
which is on the borders of Fairyland. He had a fair and beloved wife
and several lovely children: and as his neighbours, the little people,
were very friendly towards him, they bestowed on him many excellent and
precious gifts.

‘Rumour whispered of these treasures; and a monstrous giant, who lived
at no great distance, and who was a very wicked being, resolved to
obtain possession of them.

‘So he bribed a false servant to let him inside the castle, when the
knight was in bed and asleep, and he killed him as he lay. Then he went
to the part of the castle which was the nursery, and also killed all
the poor little ones he found there.

‘Happily for her, the lady was not to be found. She had gone with her
infant son, who was only two or three months old, to visit her old
nurse, who lived in the valley; and she had been detained all night
there by a storm.

‘The next morning, as soon as it was light, one of the servants at the
castle, who had managed to escape, came to tell the poor lady of the
sad fate of her husband and her pretty babes. She could scarcely
believe him at first, and was eager at once to go back and share the
fate of her dear ones; but the old nurse, with many tears, besought her
to remember that she had still a child, and that it was her duty to
preserve her life for the sake of the poor innocent.

‘The lady yielded to this reasoning, and consented to remain at her
nurse’s house as the best place of concealment; for the servant told
her that the giant had vowed, if he could find her, he would kill both
her and her baby. Years rolled on. The old nurse died, leaving her
cottage and the few articles of furniture it contained to her poor
lady, who dwelt in it, working as a peasant for her daily bread. Her
spinning-wheel and the milk of a cow, which she had purchased with the
little money she had with her, sufficed for the scanty subsistence of
herself and her little son. There was a nice little garden attached to
the cottage, in which they cultivated peas, beans, and cabbages, and
the lady was not ashamed to go out at harvest time, and glean in the
fields to supply her little son’s wants.

‘Jack, that poor lady is your mother. This castle was once your
father’s, and must again be yours.’

Jack uttered a cry of surprise.

‘My mother! oh, madam, what ought I to do? My poor father! My dear
mother!’

‘Your duty requires you to win it back for your mother. But the task is
a very difficult one, and full of peril, Jack. Have you courage to
undertake it?’

‘I fear nothing when I am doing right,’ said Jack.

‘Then,’ said the lady in the red cap, ‘you are one of those who slay
giants. You must get into the castle, and if possible possess yourself
of a hen that lays golden eggs, and a harp that talks. Remember, all
the giant possesses is really yours.’ As she ceased speaking, the lady
of the red hat suddenly disappeared, and of course Jack knew she was a
fairy.

Jack determined at once to attempt the adventure; so he advanced, and
blew the horn which hung at the castle portal. The door was opened in a
minute or two by a frightful giantess, with one great eye in the middle
of her forehead.

As soon as Jack saw her he turned to run away, but she caught him, and
dragged him into the castle.

‘Ho, ho!’ she laughed terribly. ‘You didn’t expect to see me here, that
is clear! No, I shan’t let you go again. I am weary of my life. I am so
overworked, and I don’t see why I should not have a page as well as
other ladies. And you shall be my boy. You shall clean the knives, and
black the boots, and make the fires, and help me generally when the
giant is out. When he is at home I must hide you, for he has eaten up
all my pages hitherto, and you would be a dainty morsel, my little
lad.’

While she spoke she dragged Jack right into the castle. The poor boy
was very much frightened, as I am sure you and I would have been in his
place. But he remembered that fear disgraces a man; so he struggled to
be brave and make the best of things.

‘I am quite ready to help you, and do all I can to serve you, madam,’
he said, ‘only I beg you will be good enough to hide me from your
husband, for I should not like to be eaten at all.’

‘That’s a good boy,’ said the Giantess, nodding her head; ‘it is lucky
for you that you did not scream out when you saw me, as the other boys
who have been here did, for if you had done so my husband would have
awakened and have eaten you, as he did them, for breakfast. Come here,
child; go into my wardrobe: he never ventures to open _that;_ you will
be safe there.’

And she opened a huge wardrobe which stood in the great hall, and shut
him into it. But the keyhole was so large that it admitted plenty of
air, and he could see everything that took place through it. By-and-by
he heard a heavy tramp on the stairs, like the lumbering along of a
great cannon, and then a voice like thunder cried out;

‘Fe, fa, fi-fo-fum,
I smell the breath of an Englishman.
Let him be alive or let him be dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.’


‘Wife,’ cried the Giant, ‘there is a man in the castle. Let me have him
for breakfast.’

‘You are grown old and stupid,’ cried the lady in her loud tones. ‘It
is only a nice fresh steak off an elephant, that I have cooked for you,
which you smell. There, sit down and make a good breakfast.’

And she placed a huge dish before him of savoury steaming meat, which
greatly pleased him, and made him forget his idea of an Englishman
being in the castle. When he had breakfasted he went out for a walk;
and then the Giantess opened the door, and made Jack come out to help
her. He helped her all day. She fed him well, and when evening came put
him back in the wardrobe.

THE HEN THAT LAYS GOLDEN EGGS.

The Giant came in to supper. Jack watched him through the keyhole, and
was amazed to see him pick a wolf’s bone, and put half a fowl at a time
into his capacious mouth.

When the supper was ended he bade his wife bring him his hen that laid
the golden eggs.

‘It lays as well as it did when it belonged to that paltry knight,’ he
said; ‘indeed I think the eggs are heavier than ever.’

The Giantess went away, and soon returned with a little brown hen,
which she placed on the table before her husband. ‘And now, my dear,’
she said, ‘I am going for a walk, if you don’t want me any longer.’

‘Go,’ said the Giant; ‘I shall be glad to have a nap by-and-by.’

Then he took up the brown hen and said to her:

‘Lay!’ And she instantly laid a golden egg.

‘Lay!’ said the Giant again. And she laid another.

‘Lay!’ he repeated the third time. And again a golden egg lay on the
table.

Now Jack was sure this hen was that of which the fairy had spoken.

By-and-by the Giant put the hen down on the floor, and soon after went
fast asleep, snoring so loud that it sounded like thunder.

Directly Jack perceived that the Giant was fast asleep, he pushed open
the door of the wardrobe and crept out; very softly he stole across the
room, and, picking up the hen, made haste to quit the apartment. He
knew the way to the kitchen, the door of which he found was left ajar;
he opened it, shut and locked it after him, and flew back to the
Beanstalk, which he descended as fast as his feet would move.

When his mother saw him enter the house she wept for joy, for she had
feared that the fairies had carried him away, or that the Giant had
found him. But Jack put the brown hen down before her, and told her how
he had been in the Giant’s castle, and all his adventures. She was very
glad to see the hen, which would make them rich once more.

THE MONEY BAGS.

Jack made another journey up the Beanstalk to the Giant’s castle one
day while his mother had gone to market; but first he dyed his hair and
disguised himself. The old woman did not know him again, and dragged
him in as she had done before, to help her to do the work; but she
heard her husband coming, and hid him in the wardrobe, not thinking
that it was the same boy who had stolen the hen. She bade him stay
quite still there, or the Giant would eat him.

Then the Giant came in saying:

‘Fe, fa, fi-fo-fum,
I smell the breath of an Englishman.
Let him be alive or let him be dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.’


‘Nonsense!’ said the wife, ‘it is only a roasted bullock that I thought
would be a tit-bit for your supper; sit down and I will bring it up at
once.’ The Giant sat down, and soon his wife brought up a roasted
bullock on a large dish, and they began their supper. Jack was amazed
to see them pick the bones of the bullock as if it had been a lark. As
soon as they had finished their meal, the Giantess rose and said:

‘Now, my dear, with your leave I am going up to my room to finish the
story I am reading. If you want me call for me.’

‘First,’ answered the Giant, ‘bring me my money bags, that I may count
my golden pieces before I sleep.’ The Giantess obeyed. She went and
soon returned with two large bags over her shoulders, which she put
down by her husband.

‘There,’ she said; ‘that is all that is left of the knight’s money.
When you have spent it you must go and take another baron’s castle.’

‘That he shan’t, if I can help it,’ thought Jack.

The Giant, when his wife was gone, took out heaps and heaps of golden
pieces, and counted them, and put them in piles, till he was tired of
the amusement. Then he swept them all back into their bags, and leaning
back in his chair fell fast asleep, snoring so loud that no other sound
was audible.

Jack stole softly out of the wardrobe, and taking up the bags of money
(which were his very own, because the Giant had stolen them from his
father), he ran off, and with great difficulty descending the
Beanstalk, laid the bags of gold on his mother’s table. She had just
returned from town, and was crying at not finding Jack.

‘There, mother, I have brought you the gold that my father lost.’

‘Oh, Jack! you are a very good boy, but I wish you would not risk your
precious life in the Giant’s castle. Tell me how you came to go there
again.’

And Jack told her all about it.

Jack’s mother was very glad to get the money, but she did not like him
to run any risk for her.

But after a time Jack made up his mind to go again to the Giant’s
castle.

THE TALKING HARP.

So he climbed the Beanstalk once more, and blew the horn at the Giant’s
gate. The Giantess soon opened the door; she was very stupid, and did
not know him again, but she stopped a minute before she took him in.
She feared another robbery; but Jack’s fresh face looked so innocent
that she could not resist him, and so she bade him come in, and again
hid him away in the wardrobe.

By-and-by the Giant came home, and as soon as he had crossed the
threshold he roared out:

‘Fe, fa, fi-fo-fum,
I smell the breath of an Englishman.
Let him be alive or let him be dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.’


‘You stupid old Giant,’ said his wife, ‘you only smell a nice sheep,
which I have grilled for your dinner.’

And the Giant sat down, and his wife brought up a whole sheep for his
dinner. When he had eaten it all up, he said:

‘Now bring me my harp, and I will have a little music while you take
your walk.’

The Giantess obeyed, and returned with a beautiful harp. The framework
was all sparkling with diamonds and rubies, and the strings were all of
gold.

‘This is one of the nicest things I took from the knight,’ said the
Giant. ‘I am very fond of music, and my harp is a faithful servant.’

So he drew the harp towards him, and said:

‘Play!’

And the harp played a very soft, sad air.

‘Play something merrier!’ said the Giant.

And the harp played a merry tune.

‘Now play me a lullaby,’ roared the Giant; and the harp played a sweet
lullaby, to the sound of which its master fell asleep.

Then Jack stole softly out of the wardrobe, and went into the huge
kitchen to see if the Giantess had gone out; he found no one there, so
he went to the door and opened it softly, for he thought he could not
do so with the harp in his hand.

Then he entered the Giant’s room and seized the harp and ran away with
it; but as he jumped over the threshold the harp called out:

‘MASTER! MASTER!’

And the Giant woke up.

With a tremendous roar he sprang from his seat, and in two strides had
reached the door.

But Jack was very nimble. He fled like lightning with the harp, talking
to it as he went (for he saw it was a fairy), and telling it he was the
son of its old master, the knight.

Still the Giant came on so fast that he was quite close to poor Jack,
and had stretched out his great hand to catch him. But, luckily, just
at that moment he stepped upon a loose stone, stumbled, and fell flat
on the ground, where he lay at his full length.

This accident gave Jack time to get on the Beanstalk and hasten down
it; but just as he reached their own garden he beheld the Giant
descending after him.

‘Mother I mother!’ cried Jack, ‘make haste and give me the axe.’

His mother ran to him with a hatchet in her hand, and Jack with one
tremendous blow cut through all the Beanstalks except one.

‘Now, mother, stand out of the way!’ said he.

THE GIANT BREAKS HIS NECK.

Jack’s mother shrank back, and it was well she did so, for just as the
Giant took hold of the last branch of the Beanstalk, Jack cut the stem
quite through and darted from the spot.

Down came the Giant with a terrible crash, and as he fell on his head,
he broke his neck, and lay dead at the feet of the woman he had so much
injured.

Before Jack and his mother had recovered from their alarm and
agitation, a beautiful lady stood before them.

‘Jack,’ said she, ‘you have acted like a brave knight’s son, and
deserve to have your inheritance restored to you. Dig a grave and bury
the Giant, and then go and kill the Giantess.’

‘But,’ said Jack, ‘I could not kill anyone unless I were fighting with
him; and I could not draw my sword upon a woman. Moreover, the Giantess
was very kind to me.’

The Fairy smiled on Jack.

‘I am very much pleased with your generous feeling,’ she said.
‘Nevertheless, return to the castle, and act as you will find needful.’

Jack asked the Fairy if she would show him the way to the castle, as
the Beanstalk was now down. She told him that she would drive him there
in her chariot, which was drawn by two peacocks. Jack thanked her, and
sat down in the chariot with her.

The Fairy drove him a long distance round, till they reached a village
which lay at the bottom of the hill. Here they found a number of
miserable-looking men assembled. The Fairy stopped her carriage and
addressed them:

‘My friends,’ said she, ‘the cruel giant who oppressed you and ate up
all your flocks and herds is dead, and this young gentleman was the
means of your being delivered from him, and is the son of your kind old
master, the knight.’

The men gave a loud cheer at these words, and pressed forward to say
that they would serve Jack as faithfully as they had served his father.
The Fairy bade them follow her to the castle, and they marched thither
in a body, and Jack blew the horn and demanded admittance.

The old Giantess saw them coming from the turret loop-hole. She was
very much frightened, for she guessed that something had happened to
her husband; and as she came downstairs very fast she caught her foot
in her dress, and fell from the top to the bottom and broke her neck.

When the people outside found that the door was not opened to them,
they took crowbars and forced the portal. Nobody was to be seen, but on
leaving the hall they found the body of the Giantess at the foot of the
stairs.

Thus Jack took possession of the castle. The Fairy went and brought his
mother to him, with the hen and the harp. He had the Giantess buried,
and endeavoured as much as lay in his power to do right to those whom
the Giant had robbed.

Before her departure for fairyland, the Fairy explained to Jack that
she had sent the butcher to meet him with the beans, in order to try
what sort of lad he was.

‘If you had looked at the gigantic Beanstalk and only stupidly wondered
about it,’ she said, ‘I should have left you where misfortune had
placed you, only restoring her cow to your mother. But you showed an
inquiring mind, and great courage and enterprise, therefore you deserve
to rise; and when you mounted the Beanstalk you climbed the Ladder of
Fortune.’

She then took her leave of Jack and his mother.




THE LITTLE GOOD MOUSE


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who loved each other so
much that they were never happy unless they were together. Day after
day they went out hunting or fishing; night after night they went to
balls or to the opera; they sang, and danced, and ate sugar-plums, and
were the gayest of the gay, and all their subjects followed their
example so that the kingdom was called the Joyous Land. Now in the next
kingdom everything was as different as it could possibly be. The King
was sulky and savage, and never enjoyed himself at all. He looked so
ugly and cross that all his subjects feared him, and he hated the very
sight of a cheerful face; so if he ever caught anyone smiling he had
his head cut off that very minute. This kingdom was very appropriately
called the Land of Tears. Now when this wicked King heard of the
happiness of the Jolly King, he was so jealous that he collected a
great army and set out to fight him, and the news of his approach was
soon brought to the King and Queen. The Queen, when she heard of it,
was frightened out of her wits, and began to cry bitterly. ‘Sire,’ she
said, ‘let us collect all our riches and run away as far as ever we
can, to the other side of the world.’

But the King answered:

‘Fie, madam! I am far too brave for that. It is better to die than to
be a coward.’

Then he assembled all his armed men, and after bidding the Queen a
tender farewell, he mounted his splendid horse and rode away. When he
was lost to sight the Queen could do nothing but weep, and wring her
hands, and cry.

‘Alas! If the King is killed, what will become of me and of my little
daughter?’ and she was so sorrowful that she could neither eat nor
sleep.

The King sent her a letter every day, but at last, one morning, as she
looked out of the palace window, she saw a messenger approaching in hot
haste.

‘What news, courier? What news?’ cried the Queen, and he answered:

‘The battle is lost and the King is dead, and in another moment the
enemy will be here.’

The poor Queen fell back insensible, and all her ladies carried her to
bed, and stood round her weeping and wailing. Then began a tremendous
noise and confusion, and they knew that the enemy had arrived, and very
soon they heard the King himself stamping about the palace seeking the
Queen. Then her ladies put the little Princess into her arms, and
covered her up, head and all, in the bedclothes, and ran for their
lives, and the poor Queen lay there shaking, and hoping she would not
be found. But very soon the wicked King clattered into the room, and in
a fury because the Queen would not answer when he called to her, he
tore back her silken coverings and tweaked off her lace cap, and when
all her lovely hair came tumbling down over her shoulders, he wound it
three times round his hand and threw her over his shoulder, where he
carried her like a sack of flour.

The poor Queen held her little daughter safe in her arms and shrieked
for mercy, but the wicked King only mocked her, and begged her to go on
shrieking, as it amused him, and so mounted his great black horse, and
rode back to his own country. When he got there he declared that he
would have the Queen and the little Princess hanged on the nearest
tree; but his courtiers said that seemed a pity, for when the baby grew
up she would be a very nice wife for the King’s only son.

The King was rather pleased with this idea, and shut the Queen up in
the highest room of a tall tower, which was very tiny, and miserably
furnished with a table and a very hard bed upon the floor. Then he sent
for a fairy who lived near his kingdom, and after receiving her with
more politeness than he generally showed, and entertaining her at a
sumptuous feast, he took her up to see the Queen. The fairy was so
touched by the sight of her misery that when she kissed her hand she
whispered:

‘Courage, madam! I think I see a way to help you.’

The Queen, a little comforted by these words, received her graciously,
and begged her to take pity upon the poor little Princess, who had met
with such a sudden reverse of fortune. But the King got very cross when
he saw them whispering together, and cried harshly:

‘Make an end of these fine speeches, madam. I brought you here to tell
me if the child will grow up pretty and fortunate.’

Then the Fairy answered that the Princess would be as pretty, and
clever, and well brought up as it was possible to be, and the old King
growled to the Queen that it was lucky for her that it was so, as they
would certainly have been hanged if it were otherwise. Then he stamped
off, taking the Fairy with him, and leaving the poor Queen in tears.

‘How can I wish my little daughter to grow up pretty if she is to be
married to that horrid little dwarf, the King’s son,’ she said to
herself, ‘and yet, if she is ugly we shall both be killed. If I could
only hide her away somewhere, so that the cruel King could never find
her.’

As the days went on, the Queen and the little Princess grew thinner and
thinner, for their hard-hearted gaoler gave them every day only three
boiled peas and a tiny morsel of black bread, so they were always
terribly hungry. At last, one evening, as the Queen sat at her
spinning-wheel—for the King was so avaricious that she was made to work
day and night—she saw a tiny, pretty little mouse creep out of a hole,
and said to it:

‘Alas, little creature! what are you coming to look for here? I only
have three peas for my day’s provision, so unless you wish to fast you
must go elsewhere.’

But the mouse ran hither and thither, and danced and capered so
prettily, that at last the Queen gave it her last pea, which she was
keeping for her supper, saying: ‘Here, little one, eat it up; I have
nothing better to offer you, but I give this willingly in return for
the amusement I have had from you.’

She had hardly spoken when she saw upon the table a delicious little
roast partridge, and two dishes of preserved fruit. ‘Truly,’ said she,
‘a kind action never goes unrewarded; ‘and she and the little Princess
ate their supper with great satisfaction, and then the Queen gave what
was left to the little mouse, who danced better than ever afterwards.
The next morning came the gaoler with the Queen’s allowance of three
peas, which he brought in upon a large dish to make them look smaller;
but as soon as he set it down the little mouse came and ate up all
three, so that when the Queen wanted her dinner there was nothing left
for her. Then she was quite provoked, and said:

‘What a bad little beast that mouse must be! If it goes on like this I
shall be starved.’ But when she glanced at the dish again it was
covered with all sorts of nice things to eat, and the Queen made a very
good dinner, and was gayer than usual over it. But afterwards as she
sat at her spinning-wheel she began to consider what would happen if
the little Princess did not grow up pretty enough to please the King,
and she said to herself:

‘Oh! if I could only think of some way of escaping.’

As she spoke she saw the little mouse playing in a corner with some
long straws. The Queen took them and began to plait them, saying:

‘If only I had straws enough I would make a basket with them, and let
my baby down in it from the window to any kind passer-by who would take
care of her.’

By the time the straws were all plaited the little mouse had dragged in
more and more, until the Queen had plenty to make her basket, and she
worked at it day and night, while the little mouse danced for her
amusement; and at dinner and supper time the Queen gave it the three
peas and the bit of black bread, and always found something good in the
dish in their place. She really could not imagine where all the nice
things came from. At last one day when the basket was finished, the
Queen was looking out of the window to see how long a cord she must
make to lower it to the bottom of the tower, when she noticed a little
old woman who was leaning upon her stick and looking up at her.
Presently she said:

‘I know your trouble, madam. If you like I will help you.’

‘Oh! my dear friend,’ said the Queen. ‘If you really wish to be of use
to me you will come at the time that I will appoint, and I will let
down my poor little baby in a basket. If you will take her, and bring
her up for me, when I am rich I will reward you splendidly.’

‘I don’t care about the reward,’ said the old woman, ‘but there is one
thing I should like. You must know that I am very particular about what
I eat, and if there is one thing that I fancy above all others, it is a
plump, tender little mouse. If there is such a thing in your garret
just throw it down to me, and in return I will promise that your little
daughter shall be well taken care of.’

The Queen when she heard this began to cry, but made no answer, and the
old woman after waiting a few minutes asked her what was the matter.

‘Why,’ said the Queen, ‘there is only one mouse in this garret, and
that is such a dear, pretty little thing that I cannot bear to think of
its being killed.’

‘What!’ cried the old woman, in a rage. ‘Do you care more for a
miserable mouse than for your own baby? Good-bye, madam! I leave you to
enjoy its company, and for my own part I thank my stars that I can get
plenty of mice without troubling you to give them to me.’

And she hobbled off grumbling and growling. As to the Queen, she was so
disappointed that, in spite of finding a better dinner than usual, and
seeing the little mouse dancing in its merriest mood, she could do
nothing but cry. That night when her baby was fast asleep she packed it
into the basket, and wrote on a slip of paper, ‘This unhappy little
girl is called Delicia!’ This she pinned to its robe, and then very
sadly she was shutting the basket, when in sprang the little mouse and
sat on the baby’s pillow.

‘Ah! little one,’ said the Queen, ‘it cost me dear to save your life.
How shall I know now whether my Delicia is being taken care of or no?
Anyone else would have let the greedy old woman have you, and eat you
up, but I could not bear to do it.’ Whereupon the Mouse answered:

‘Believe me, madam, you will never repent of your kindness.’

The Queen was immensely astonished when the Mouse began to speak, and
still more so when she saw its little sharp nose turn to a beautiful
face, and its paws to hands and feet; then it suddenly grew tall, and
the Queen recognised the Fairy who had come with the wicked King to
visit her.

The Fairy smiled at her astonished look, and said:

‘I wanted to see if you were faithful and capable of feeling a real
friendship for me, for you see we fairies are rich in everything but
friends, and those are hard to find.’

‘It is not possible that _you_ should want for friends, you charming
creature,’ said the Queen, kissing her.

‘Indeed it is so,’ the Fairy said. ‘For those who are only friendly
with me for their own advantage, I do not count at all. But when you
cared for the poor little mouse you could not have known there was
anything to be gained by it, and to try you further I took the form of
the old woman whom you talked to from the window, and then I was
convinced that you really loved me.’ Then, turning to the little
Princess, she kissed her rosy lips three times, saying:

‘Dear little one, I promise that you shall be richer than your father,
and shall live a hundred years, always pretty and happy, without fear
of old age and wrinkles.’

The Queen, quite delighted, thanked the Fairy gratefully, and begged
her to take charge of the little Delicia and bring her up as her own
daughter. This she agreed to do, and then they shut the basket and
lowered it carefully, baby and all, to the ground at the foot of the
tower. The Fairy then changed herself back into the form of a mouse,
and this delayed her a few seconds, after which she ran nimbly down the
straw rope, but only to find when she got to the bottom that the baby
had disappeared.

In the greatest terror she ran up again to the Queen, crying:

‘All is lost! my enemy Cancaline has stolen the Princess away. You must
know that she is a cruel fairy who hates me, and as she is older than I
am and has more power, I can do nothing against her. I know no way of
rescuing Delicia from her clutches.’

When the Queen heard this terrible news she was heart-broken, and
begged the Fairy to do all she could to get the poor little Princess
back again. At this moment in came the gaoler, and when he missed the
little Princess he at once told the King, who came in a great fury
asking what the Queen had done with her. She answered that a fairy,
whose name she did not know, had come and carried her off by force.
Upon this the King stamped upon the ground, and cried in a terrible
voice:

‘You shall be hung! I always told you you should.’ And without another
word he dragged the unlucky Queen out into the nearest wood, and
climbed up into a tree to look for a branch to which he could hang her.
But when he was quite high up, the Fairy, who had made herself
invisible and followed them, gave him a sudden push, which made him
lose his footing and fall to the ground with a crash and break four of
his teeth, and while he was trying to mend them the fairy carried the
Queen off in her flying chariot to a beautiful castle, where she was so
kind to her that but for the loss of Delicia the Queen would have been
perfectly happy. But though the good little mouse did her very utmost,
they could not find out where Cancaline had hidden the little Princess.

Thus fifteen years went by, and the Queen had somewhat recovered from
her grief, when the news reached her that the son of the wicked King
wished to marry the little maiden who kept the turkeys, and that she
had refused him; the wedding-dresses had been made, nevertheless, and
the festivities were to be so splendid that all the people for leagues
round were flocking in to be present at them. The Queen felt quite
curious about a little turkey-maiden who did not wish to be a Queen, so
the little mouse conveyed herself to the poultry-yard to find out what
she was like.

She found the turkey-maiden sitting upon a big stone, barefooted, and
miserably dressed in an old, coarse linen gown and cap; the ground at
her feet was all strewn with robes of gold and silver, ribbons and
laces, diamonds and pearls, over which the turkeys were stalking to and
fro, while the King’s ugly, disagreeable son stood opposite her,
declaring angrily that if she would not marry him she should be killed.

The Turkey-maiden answered proudly:

‘I never will marry you! you are too ugly and too much like your cruel
father. Leave me in peace with my turkeys, which I like far better than
all your fine gifts.’

The little mouse watched her with the greatest admiration, for she was
as beautiful as the spring; and as soon as the wicked Prince was gone,
she took the form of an old peasant woman and said to her:

‘Good day, my pretty one! you have a fine flock of turkeys there.’

The young Turkey-maiden turned her gentle eyes upon the old woman, and
answered:

‘Yet they wish me to leave them to become a miserable Queen! what is
your advice upon the matter?’

‘My child,’ said the Fairy, ‘a crown is a very pretty thing, but you
know neither the price nor the weight of it.’

‘I know so well that I have refused to wear one,’ said the little
maiden, ‘though I don’t know who was my father, or who was my mother,
and I have not a friend in the world.’

‘You have goodness and beauty, which are of more value than ten
kingdoms,’ said the wise Fairy. ‘But tell me, child, how came you here,
and how is it you have neither father, nor mother, nor friend?’

‘A Fairy called Cancaline is the cause of my being here,’ answered she,
‘for while I lived with her I got nothing but blows and harsh words,
until at last I could bear it no longer, and ran away from her without
knowing where I was going, and as I came through a wood the wicked
Prince met me, and offered to give me charge of the poultry-yard. I
accepted gladly, not knowing that I should have to see him day by day.
And now he wants to marry me, but that I will never consent to.’

Upon hearing this the Fairy became convinced that the little
Turkey-maiden was none other than the Princess Delicia.

‘What is your name, my little one?’ said she.

‘I am called Delicia, if it please you,’ she answered.

Then the Fairy threw her arms round the Princess’s neck, and nearly
smothered her with kisses, saying:

‘Ah, Delicia! I am a very old friend of yours, and I am truly glad to
find you at last; but you might look nicer than you do in that old
gown, which is only fit for a kitchen-maid. Take this pretty dress and
let us see the difference it will make.’

So Delicia took off the ugly cap, and shook out all her fair shining
hair, and bathed her hands and face in clear water from the nearest
spring till her cheeks were like roses, and when she was adorned with
the diamonds and the splendid robe the Fairy had given her, she looked
the most beautiful Princess in the world, and the Fairy with great
delight cried:

‘Now you look as you ought to look, Delicia: what do you think about it
yourself?’

And Delicia answered:

‘I feel as if I were the daughter of some great king.’

‘And would you be glad if you were?’ said the Fairy.

‘Indeed I should,’ answered she.

‘Ah, well,’ said the Fairy, ‘to-morrow I may have some pleasant news
for you.’

So she hurried back to her castle, where the Queen sat busy with her
embroidery, and cried:

‘Well, madam! will you wager your thimble and your golden needle that I
am bringing you the best news you could possibly hear?’

‘Alas!’ sighed the Queen, ‘since the death of the Jolly King and the
loss of my Delicia, all the news in the world is not worth a pin to me.

‘There, there, don’t be melancholy,’ said the Fairy. ‘I assure you the
Princess is quite well, and I have never seen her equal for beauty. She
might be a Queen to-morrow if she chose;’ and then she told all that
had happened, and the Queen first rejoiced over the thought of
Delicia’s beauty, and then wept at the idea of her being a
Turkey-maiden.

‘I will not hear of her being made to marry the wicked King’s son,’ she
said. ‘Let us go at once and bring her here.’

In the meantime the wicked Prince, who was very angry with Delicia, had
sat himself down under a tree, and cried and howled with rage and spite
until the King heard him, and cried out from the window:

‘What is the matter with you, that you are making all this
disturbance?’

The Prince replied:

‘It is all because our Turkey-maiden will not love me!’

‘Won’t love you? eh!’ said the King. ‘We’ll very soon see about that!’
So he called his guards and told them to go and fetch Delicia. ‘See if
I don’t make her change her mind pretty soon!’ said the wicked King
with a chuckle.

Then the guards began to search the poultry-yard, and could find nobody
there but Delicia, who, with her splendid dress and her crown of
diamonds, looked such a lovely Princess that they hardly dared to speak
to her. But she said to them very politely:

‘Pray tell me what you are looking for here?’

‘Madam,’ they answered, ‘we are sent for an insignificant little person
called Delicia.’

‘Alas!’ said she, ‘that is my name. What can you want with me?’

So the guards tied her hands and feet with thick ropes, for fear she
might run away, and brought her to the King, who was waiting with his
son.

When he saw her he was very much astonished at her beauty, which would
have made anyone less hard-hearted sorry for her. But the wicked King
only laughed and mocked at her, and cried: ‘Well, little fright, little
toad! why don’t you love my son, who is far too handsome and too good
for you? Make haste and begin to love him this instant, or you shall be
tarred and feathered.’

Then the poor little Princess, shaking with terror, went down on her
knees, crying:

‘Oh, don’t tar and feather me, please! It would be so uncomfortable.
Let me have two or three days to make up my mind, and then you shall do
as you like with me.’

The wicked Prince would have liked very much to see her tarred and
feathered, but the King ordered that she should be shut up in a dark
dungeon. It was just at this moment that the Queen and the Fairy
arrived in the flying chariot, and the Queen was dreadfully distressed
at the turn affairs had taken, and said miserably that she was destined
to be unfortunate all her days. But the Fairy bade her take courage.

‘I’ll pay them out yet,’ said she, nodding her head with an air of
great determination.

That very same night, as soon as the wicked King had gone to bed, the
Fairy changed herself into the little mouse, and creeping up on to his
pillow nibbled his ear, so that he squealed out quite loudly and turned
over on his other side; but that was no good, for the little mouse only
set to work and gnawed away at the second ear until it hurt more than
the first one.

Then the King cried ‘Murder!’ and ‘Thieves!’ and all his guards ran to
see what was the matter, but they could find nothing and nobody, for
the little mouse had run off to the Prince’s room and was serving him
in exactly the same way. All night long she ran from one to the other,
until at last, driven quite frantic by terror and want of sleep, the
King rushed out of the palace crying:

‘Help! help! I am pursued by rats.’

The Prince when he heard this got up also, and ran after the King, and
they had not gone far when they both fell into the river and were never
heard of again.

Then the good Fairy ran to tell the Queen, and they went together to
the black dungeon where Delicia was imprisoned. The Fairy touched each
door with her wand, and it sprang open instantly, but they had to go
through forty before they came to the Princess, who was sitting on the
floor looking very dejected. But when the Queen rushed in, and kissed
her twenty times in a minute, and laughed, and cried, and told Delicia
all her history, the Princess was wild with delight. Then the Fairy
showed her all the wonderful dresses and jewels she had brought for
her, and said:

‘Don’t let us waste time; we must go and harangue the people.’

So she walked first, looking very serious and dignified, and wearing a
dress the train of which was at least ten ells long. Behind her came
the Queen wearing a blue velvet robe embroidered with gold, and a
diamond crown that was brighter than the sun itself. Last of all walked
Delicia, who was so beautiful that it was nothing short of marvellous.

They proceeded through the streets, returning the salutations of all
they met, great or small, and all the people turned and followed them,
wondering who these noble ladies could be.

When the audience hall was quite full, the Fairy said to the subjects
of the Wicked King that if they would accept Delicia, who was the
daughter of the Jolly King, as their Queen, she would undertake to find
a suitable husband for her, and would promise that during their reign
there should be nothing but rejoicing and merry-making, and all dismal
things should be entirely banished. Upon this the people cried with one
accord, ‘We will, we will! we have been gloomy and miserable too long
already.’ And they all took hands and danced round the Queen, and
Delicia, and the good Fairy, singing: ‘Yes, yes; we will, we will!’

Then there were feasts and fireworks in every street in the town, and
early the next morning the Fairy, who had been all over the world in
the night, brought back with her, in her flying chariot, the most
handsome and good-tempered Prince she could find anywhere. He was so
charming that Delicia loved him from the moment their eyes met, and as
for him, of course he could not help thinking himself the luckiest
Prince in the world. The Queen felt that she had really come to the end
of her misfortunes at last, and they all lived happily ever after.[10]

 [10] _La bonne petite Souris_, par Madame d’Aulnoy.




GRACIOSA AND PERCINET


Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who had one charming
daughter. She was so graceful and pretty and clever that she was called
Graciosa, and the Queen was so fond of her that she could think of
nothing else.

Every day she gave the Princess a lovely new frock of gold brocade, or
satin, or velvet, and when she was hungry she had bowls full of
sugar-plums, and at least twenty pots of jam. Everybody said she was
the happiest Princess in the world. Now there lived at this same court
a very rich old duchess whose name was Grumbly. She was more frightful
than tongue can tell; her hair was red as fire, and she had but one
eye, and that not a pretty one! Her face was as broad as a full moon,
and her mouth was so large that everybody who met her would have been
afraid they were going to be eaten up, only she had no teeth. As she
was as cross as she was ugly, she could not bear to hear everyone
saying how pretty and how charming Graciosa was; so she presently went
away from the court to her own castle, which was not far off. But if
anybody who went to see her happened to mention the charming Princess,
she would cry angrily:

‘It’s not true that she is lovely. I have more beauty in my little
finger than she has in her whole body.’

Soon after this, to the great grief of the Princess, the Queen was
taken ill and died, and the King became so melancholy that for a whole
year he shut himself up in his palace. At last his physicians, fearing
that he would fall ill, ordered that he should go out and amuse
himself; so a hunting party was arranged, but as it was very hot
weather the King soon got tired, and said he would dismount and rest at
a castle which they were passing.

This happened to be the Duchess Grumbly’s castle, and when she heard
that the King was coming she went out to meet him, and said that the
cellar was the coolest place in the whole castle if he would condescend
to come down into it. So down they went together, and the King seeing
about two hundred great casks ranged side by side, asked if it was only
for herself that she had this immense store of wine.

‘Yes, sire,’ answered she, ‘it is for myself alone, but I shall be most
happy to let you taste some of it. Which do you like, canary, St.
Julien, champagne, hermitage sack, raisin, or cider?’

‘Well,’ said the King, ‘since you are so kind as to ask me, I prefer
champagne to anything else.’

Then Duchess Grumbly took up a little hammer and tapped upon the cask
twice, and out came at least a thousand crowns.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ said she smiling.

Then she tapped the next cask, and out came a bushel of gold pieces.

‘I don’t understand this at all,’ said the Duchess, smiling more than
before.

Then she went on to the third cask, tap, tap, and out came such a
stream of diamonds and pearls that the ground was covered with them.

‘Ah!’ she cried, ‘this is altogether beyond my comprehension, sire.
Someone must have stolen my good wine and put all this rubbish in its
place.’

‘Rubbish, do you call it, Madam Grumbly?’ cried the King. ‘Rubbish! why
there is enough there to buy ten kingdoms.’

‘Well,’ said she, ‘you must know that all those casks are full of gold
and jewels, and if you like to marry me it shall all be yours.’

Now the King loved money more than anything else in the world, so he
cried joyfully:

‘Marry you? why with all my heart! to-morrow if you like.’

‘But I make one condition,’ said the Duchess; ‘I must have entire
control of your daughter to do as I please with her.’

‘Oh certainly, you shall have your own way; let us shake hands upon the
bargain,’ said the King.

So they shook hands and went up out of the cellar of treasure together,
and the Duchess locked the door and gave the key to the King.

When he got back to his own palace Graciosa ran out to meet him, and
asked if he had had good sport.

‘I have caught a dove,’ answered he.

‘Oh! do give it to me,’ said the Princess, ‘and I will keep it and take
care of it.’

‘I can hardly do that,’ said he, ‘for, to speak more plainly, I mean
that I met the Duchess Grumbly, and have promised to marry her.’

‘And you call her a dove?’ cried the Princess. ‘_I_ should have called
her a screech owl.’

‘Hold your tongue,’ said the King, very crossly. ‘I intend you to
behave prettily to her. So now go and make yourself fit to be seen, as
I am going to take you to visit her.’

So the Princess went very sorrowfully to her own room, and her nurse,
seeing her tears, asked what was vexing her.

‘Alas! who would not be vexed?’ answered she, ‘for the King intends to
marry again, and has chosen for his new bride my enemy, the hideous
Duchess Grumbly.’

‘Oh, well!’ answered the nurse, ‘you must remember that you are a
Princess, and are expected to set a good example in making the best of
whatever happens. You must promise me not to let the Duchess see how
much you dislike her.’

At first the Princess would not promise, but the nurse showed her so
many good reasons for it that in the end she agreed to be amiable to
her step-mother.

Then the nurse dressed her in a robe of pale green and gold brocade,
and combed out her long fair hair till it floated round her like a
golden mantle, and put on her head a crown of roses and jasmine with
emerald leaves.

When she was ready nobody could have been prettier, but she still could
not help looking sad.

Meanwhile the Duchess Grumbly was also occupied in attiring herself.
She had one of her shoe heels made an inch or so higher than the other,
that she might not limp so much, and put in a cunningly made glass eye
in the place of the one she had lost. She dyed her red hair black, and
painted her face. Then she put on a gorgeous robe of lilac satin lined
with blue, and a yellow petticoat trimmed with violet ribbons, and
because she had heard that queens always rode into their new dominions,
she ordered a horse to be made ready for her to ride.

While Graciosa was waiting until the King should be ready to set out,
she went down all alone through the garden into a little wood, where
she sat down upon a mossy bank and began to think. And her thoughts
were so doleful that very soon she began to cry, and she cried, and
cried, and forgot all about going back to the palace, until she
suddenly saw a handsome page standing before her. He was dressed in
green, and the cap which he held in his hand was adorned with white
plumes. When Graciosa looked at him he went down on one knee, and said
to her:

‘Princess, the King awaits you.’

The Princess was surprised, and, if the truth must be told, very much
delighted at the appearance of this charming page, whom she could not
remember to have seen before. Thinking he might belong to the household
of the Duchess, she said:

‘How long have you been one of the King’s pages?’

‘I am not in the service of the King, madam,’ answered he, ‘but in
yours.’

‘In mine?’ said the Princess with great surprise. ‘Then how is it that
I have never seen you before?’

‘Ah, Princess!’ said he, ‘I have never before dared to present myself
to you, but now the King’s marriage threatens you with so many dangers
that I have resolved to tell you at once how much I love you already,
and I trust that in time I may win your regard. I am Prince Percinet,
of whose riches you may have heard, and whose fairy gift will, I hope,
be of use to you in all your difficulties, if you will permit me to
accompany you under this disguise.’

‘Ah, Percinet!’ cried the Princess, ‘is it really you? I have so often
heard of you and wished to see you. If you will indeed be my friend, I
shall not be afraid of that wicked old Duchess any more.’

So they went back to the palace together, and there Graciosa found a
beautiful horse which Percinet had brought for her to ride. As it was
very spirited he led it by the bridle, and this arrangement enabled him
to turn and look at the Princess often, which he did not fail to do.
Indeed, she was so pretty that it was a real pleasure to look at her.
When the horse which the Duchess was to ride appeared beside
Graciosa’s, it looked no better than an old cart horse, and as to their
trappings, there was simply no comparison between them, as the
Princess’s saddle and bridle were one glittering mass of diamonds. The
King had so many other things to think of that he did not notice this,
but all his courtiers were entirely taken up with admiring the Princess
and her charming Page in green, who was more handsome and
distinguished-looking than all the rest of the court put together.

When they met the Duchess Grumbly she was seated in an open carriage
trying in vain to look dignified. The King and the Princess saluted
her, and her horse was brought forward for her to mount. But when she
saw Graciosa’s she cried angrily:

‘If that child is to have a better horse than mine, I will go back to
my own castle this very minute. What is the good of being a Queen if
one is to be slighted like this?’

Upon this the King commanded Graciosa to dismount and to beg the
Duchess to honour her by mounting her horse. The Princess obeyed in
silence, and the Duchess, without looking at her or thanking her,
scrambled up upon the beautiful horse, where she sat looking like a
bundle of clothes, and eight officers had to hold her up for fear she
should fall off.

Even then she was not satisfied, and was still grumbling and muttering,
so they asked her what was the matter.

‘I wish that Page in green to come and lead the horse, as he did when
Graciosa rode it,’ said she very sharply.

And the King ordered the Page to come and lead the Queen’s horse.
Percinet and the Princess looked at one another, but said never a word,
and then he did as the King commanded, and the procession started in
great pomp. The Duchess was greatly elated, and as she sat there in
state would not have wished to change places even with Graciosa. But at
the moment when it was least expected the beautiful horse began to
plunge and rear and kick, and finally to run away at such a pace that
it was impossible to stop him.

At first the Duchess clung to the saddle, but she was very soon thrown
off and fell in a heap among the stones and thorns, and there they
found her, shaken to a jelly, and collected what was left of her as if
she had been a broken glass. Her bonnet was here and her shoes there,
her face was scratched, and her fine clothes were covered with mud.
Never was a bride seen in such a dismal plight. They carried her back
to the palace and put her to bed, but as soon as she recovered enough
to be able to speak, she began to scold and rage, and declared that the
whole affair was Graciosa’s fault, that she had contrived it on purpose
to try and get rid of her, and that if the King would not have her
punished, she would go back to her castle and enjoy her riches by
herself.

At this the King was terribly frightened, for he did not at all want to
lose all those barrels of gold and jewels. So he hastened to appease
the Duchess, and told her she might punish Graciosa in any way she
pleased.

Thereupon she sent for Graciosa, who turned pale and trembled at the
summons, for she guessed that it promised nothing agreeable for her.
She looked all about for Percinet, but he was nowhere to be seen; so
she had no choice but to go to the Duchess Grumbly’s room. She had
hardly got inside the door when she was seized by four waiting women,
who looked so tall and strong and cruel that the Princess shuddered at
the sight of them, and still more when she saw them arming themselves
with great bundles of rods, and heard the Duchess call out to them from
her bed to beat the Princess without mercy. Poor Graciosa wished
miserably that Percinet could only know what was happening and come to
rescue her. But no sooner did they begin to beat her than she found, to
her great relief, that the rods had changed to bundles of peacock’s
feathers, and though the Duchess’s women went on till they were so
tired that they could no longer raise their arms from their sides, yet
she was not hurt in the least. However, the Duchess thought she must be
black and blue after such a beating; so Graciosa, when she was
released, pretended to feel very bad, and went away into her own room,
where she told her nurse all that had happened, and then the nurse left
her, and when the Princess turned round there stood Percinet beside
her. She thanked him gratefully for helping her so cleverly, and they
laughed and were very merry over the way they had taken in the Duchess
and her waiting-maids; but Percinet advised her still to pretend to be
ill for a few days, and after promising to come to her aid whenever she
needed him, he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

The Duchess was so delighted at the idea that Graciosa was really ill,
that she herself recovered twice as fast as she would have done
otherwise, and the wedding was held with great magnificence. Now as the
King knew that, above all other things, the Queen loved to be told that
she was beautiful, he ordered that her portrait should be painted, and
that a tournament should be held, at which all the bravest knights of
his court should maintain against all comers that Grumbly was the most
beautiful princess in the world.

Numbers of knights came from far and wide to accept the challenge, and
the hideous Queen sat in great state in a balcony hung with cloth of
gold to watch the contests, and Graciosa had to stand up behind her,
where her loveliness was so conspicuous that the combatants could not
keep their eyes off her. But the Queen was so vain that she thought all
their admiring glances were for herself, especially as, in spite of the
badness of their cause, the King’s knights were so brave that they were
the victors in every combat.

However, when nearly all the strangers had been defeated, a young
unknown knight presented himself. He carried a portrait, enclosed in a
bow encrusted with diamonds, and he declared himself willing to
maintain against them all that the Queen was the ugliest creature in
the world, and that the Princess whose portrait he carried was the most
beautiful.

So one by one the knights came out against him, and one by one he
vanquished them all, and then he opened the box, and said that, to
console them, he would show them the portrait of his Queen of Beauty,
and when he did so everyone recognised the Princess Graciosa. The
unknown knight then saluted her gracefully and retired, without telling
his name to anybody. But Graciosa had no difficulty in guessing that it
was Percinet.

As to the Queen, she was so furiously angry that she could hardly
speak; but she soon recovered her voice, and overwhelmed Graciosa with
a torrent of reproaches.

‘What!’ she said, ‘do you dare to dispute with me for the prize of
beauty, and expect me to endure this insult to my knights? But I will
not bear it, proud Princess. I will have my revenge.’

‘I assure you, Madam,’ said the Princess, ‘that I had nothing to do
with it and am quite willing that you shall be declared Queen of Beauty

‘Ah! you are pleased to jest, popinjay!’ said the Queen, ‘but it will
be my turn soon!’

The King was speedily told what had happened, and how the Princess was
in terror of the angry Queen, but he only said: ‘The Queen must do as
she pleases. Graciosa belongs to her!’

The wicked Queen waited impatiently until night fell, and then she
ordered her carriage to be brought. Graciosa, much against her will,
was forced into it, and away they drove, and never stopped until they
reached a great forest, a hundred leagues from the palace. This forest
was so gloomy, and so full of lions, tigers, bears and wolves, that
nobody dared pass through it even by daylight, and here they set down
the unhappy Princess in the middle of the black night, and left her in
spite of all her tears and entreaties. The Princess stood quite still
at first from sheer bewilderment, but when the last sound of the
retreating carriages died away in the distance she began to run
aimlessly hither and thither, sometimes knocking herself against a
tree, sometimes tripping over a stone, fearing every minute that she
would be eaten up by the lions. Presently she was too tired to advance
another step, so she threw herself down upon the ground and cried
miserably:

‘Oh, Percinet! where are you? Have you forgotten me altogether?’

She had hardly spoken when all the forest was lighted up with a sudden
glow. Every tree seemed to be sending out a soft radiance, which was
clearer than moonlight and softer than daylight, and at the end of a
long avenue of trees opposite to her the Princess saw a palace of clear
crystal which blazed like the sun. At that moment a slight sound behind
her made her start round, and there stood Percinet himself.

‘Did I frighten you, my Princess?’ said he. ‘I come to bid you welcome
to our fairy palace, in the name of the Queen, my mother, who is
prepared to love you as much as I do.’ The Princess joyfully mounted
with him into a little sledge, drawn by two stags, which bounded off
and drew them swiftly to the wonderful palace, where the Queen received
her with the greatest kindness, and a splendid banquet was served at
once. Graciosa was so happy to have found Percinet, and to have escaped
from the gloomy forest and all its terrors, that she was very hungry
and very merry, and they were a gay party. After supper they went into
another lovely room, where the crystal walls were covered with
pictures, and the Princess saw with great surprise that her own history
was represented, even down to the moment when Percinet found her in the
forest.

‘Your painters must indeed be diligent,’ she said, pointing out the
last picture to the Prince.

‘They are obliged to be, for I will not have anything forgotten that
happens to you,’ he answered.

When the Princess grew sleepy, twenty-four charming maidens put her to
bed in the prettiest room she had ever seen, and then sang to her so
sweetly that Graciosa’s dreams were all of mermaids, and cool sea
waves, and caverns, in which she wandered with Percinet; but when she
woke up again her first thought was that, delightful as this fairy
palace seemed to her, yet she could not stay in it, but must go back to
her father. When she had been dressed by the four-and-twenty maidens in
a charming robe which the Queen had sent for her, and in which she
looked prettier than ever, Prince Percinet came to see her, and was
bitterly disappointed when she told him what she had been thinking. He
begged her to consider again how unhappy the wicked Queen would make
her, and how, if she would but marry him, all the fairy palace would be
hers, and his one thought would be to please her. But, in spite of
everything he could say, the Princess was quite determined to go back,
though he at last persuaded her to stay eight days, which were so full
of pleasure and amusement that they passed like a few hours. On the
last day, Graciosa, who had often felt anxious to know what was going
on in her father’s palace, said to Percinet that she was sure that he
could find out for her, if he would, what reason the Queen had given
her father for her sudden disappearance. Percinet at first offered to
send his courier to find out, but the Princess said:

‘Oh! isn’t there a quicker way of knowing than that?’

‘Very well,’ said Percinet, ‘you shall see for yourself.’

So up they went together to the top of a very high tower, which, like
the rest of the castle, was built entirely of rock-crystal.

There the Prince held Graciosa’s hand in his, and made her put the tip
of her little finger into her mouth, and look towards the town, and
immediately she saw the wicked Queen go to the King, and heard her say
to him, ‘That miserable Princess is dead, and no great loss either. I
have ordered that she shall be buried at once.’

And then the Princess saw how she dressed up a log of wood and had it
buried, and how the old King cried, and all the people murmured that
the Queen had killed Graciosa with her cruelties, and that she ought to
have her head cut off. When the Princess saw that the King was so sorry
for her pretended death that he could neither eat nor drink, she cried:

‘Ah, Percinet! take me back quickly if you love me.’

And so, though he did not want to at all, he was obliged to promise
that he would let her go.

‘You may not regret me, Princess,’ he said sadly, ‘for I fear that you
do not love me well enough; but I foresee that you will more than once
regret that you left this fairy palace where we have been so happy.’

But, in spite of all he could say, she bade farewell to the Queen, his
mother, and prepared to set out; so Percinet, very unwillingly, brought
the little sledge with the stags and she mounted beside him. But they
had hardly gone twenty yards when a tremendous noise behind her made
Graciosa look back, and she saw the palace of crystal fly into a
million splinters, like the spray of a fountain, and vanish.

‘Oh, Percinet!’ she cried, ‘what has happened? The palace is gone.’

‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘my palace is a thing of the past; you will see it
again, but not until after you have been buried.’

‘Now you are angry with me,’ said Graciosa in her most coaxing voice,
‘though after all I am more to be pitied than you are.’

When they got near the palace the Prince made the sledge and themselves
invisible, so the Princess got in unobserved, and ran up to the great
hall where the King was sitting all by himself. At first he was very
much startled by Graciosa’s sudden appearance, but she told him how the
Queen had left her out in the forest, and how she had caused a log of
wood to be buried. The King, who did not know what to think, sent
quickly and had it dug up, and sure enough it was as the Princess had
said. Then he caressed Graciosa, and made her sit down to supper with
him, and they were as happy as possible. But someone had by this time
told the wicked Queen that Graciosa had come back, and was at supper
with the King, and in she flew in a terrible fury. The poor old King
quite trembled before her, and when she declared that Graciosa was not
the Princess at all, but a wicked impostor, and that if the King did
not give her up at once she would go back to her own castle and never
see him again, he had not a word to say, and really seemed to believe
that it was not Graciosa after all. So the Queen in great triumph sent
for her waiting women, who dragged the unhappy Princess away and shut
her up in a garret; they took away all her jewels and her pretty dress,
and gave her a rough cotton frock, wooden shoes, and a little cloth
cap. There was some straw in a corner, which was all she had for a bed,
and they gave her a very little bit of black bread to eat. In this
miserable plight Graciosa did indeed regret the fairy palace, and she
would have called Percinet to her aid, only she felt sure he was still
vexed with her for leaving him, and thought that she could not expect
him to come.

Meanwhile the Queen had sent for an old Fairy, as malicious as herself,
and said to her:

‘You must find me some task for this fine Princess which she cannot
possibly do, for I mean to punish her, and if she does not do what I
order, she will not be able to say that I am unjust.’ So the old Fairy
said she would think it over, and come again the next day. When she
returned she brought with her a skein of thread, three times as big as
herself; it was so fine that a breath of air would break it, and so
tangled that it was impossible to see the beginning or the end of it.

The Queen sent for Graciosa, and said to her:

‘Do you see this skein? Set your clumsy fingers to work upon it, for I
must have it disentangled by sunset, and if you break a single thread
it will be the worse for you.’ So saying she left her, locking the door
behind her with three keys.

The Princess stood dismayed at the sight of the terrible skein. If she
did but turn it over to see where to begin, she broke a thousand
threads, and not one could she disentangle. At last she threw it into
the middle of the floor, crying:

‘Oh, Percinet! this fatal skein will be the death of me if you will not
forgive me and help me once more.’

And immediately in came Percinet as easily as if he had all the keys in
his own possession.

‘Here I am, Princess, as much as ever at your service,’ said he,
‘though really you are not very kind to me.’

Then he just stroked the skein with his wand, and all the broken
threads joined themselves together, and the whole skein wound itself
smoothly off in the most surprising manner, and the Prince, turning to
Graciosa, asked if there was nothing else that she wished him to do for
her, and if the time would never come when she would wish for him for
his own sake.

‘Don’t be vexed with me, Percinet,’ she said. ‘I am unhappy enough
without that.’

‘But why should you be unhappy, my Princess?’ cried he. ‘Only come with
me and we shall be as happy as the day is long together.’

‘But suppose you get tired of me?’ said Graciosa.

The Prince was so grieved at this want of confidence that he left her
without another word.

The wicked Queen was in such a hurry to punish Graciosa that she
thought the sun would never set; and indeed it was before the appointed
time that she came with her four Fairies, and as she fitted the three
keys into the locks she said:

‘I’ll venture to say that the idle minx has not done anything at
all—she prefers to sit with her hands before her to keep them white.’

But, as soon as she entered, Graciosa presented her with the ball of
thread in perfect order, so that she had no fault to find, and could
only pretend to discover that it was soiled, for which imaginary fault
she gave Graciosa a blow on each cheek, that made her white and pink
skin turn green and yellow. And then she sent her back to be locked
into the garret once more.

Then the Queen sent for the Fairy again and scolded her furiously.
‘Don’t make such a mistake again; find me something that it will be
quite impossible for her to do,’ she said.

So the next day the Fairy appeared with a huge barrel full of the
feathers of all sorts of birds. There were nightingales, canaries,
goldfinches, linnets, tomtits, parrots, owls, sparrows, doves,
ostriches, bustards, peacocks, larks, partridges, and everything else
that you can think of. These feathers were all mixed up in such
confusion that the birds themselves could not have chosen out their
own. ‘Here,’ said the Fairy, ‘is a little task which it will take all
your prisoner’s skill and patience to accomplish. Tell her to pick out
and lay in a separate heap the feathers of each bird. She would need to
be a fairy to do it.’

The Queen was more than delighted at the thought of the despair this
task would cause the Princess. She sent for her, and with the same
threats as before locked her up with the three keys, ordering that all
the feathers should be sorted by sunset. Graciosa set to work at once,
but before she had taken out a dozen feathers she found that it was
perfectly impossible to know one from another.

‘Ah! well,’ she sighed, ‘the Queen wishes to kill me, and if I must die
I must. I cannot ask Percinet to help me again, for if he really loved
me he would not wait till I called him, he would come without that.’

‘I am here, my Graciosa,’ cried Percinet, springing out of the barrel
where he had been hiding. ‘How can you still doubt that I love you with
all my heart?’

Then he gave three strokes of his wand upon the barrel, and all the
feathers flew out in a cloud and settled down in neat little separate
heaps all round the room.

‘What should I do without you, Percinet?’ said Graciosa gratefully. But
still she could not quite make up her mind to go with him and leave her
father’s kingdom for ever; so she begged him to give her more time to
think of it, and he had to go away disappointed once more.

When the wicked Queen came at sunset she was amazed and infuriated to
find the task done. However, she complained that the heaps of feathers
were badly arranged, and for that the Princess was beaten and sent back
to her garret. Then the Queen sent for the Fairy once more, and scolded
her until she was fairly terrified, and promised to go home and think
of another task for Graciosa, worse than either of the others.

At the end of three days she came again, bringing with her a box.

‘Tell your slave,’ said he, ‘to carry this wherever you please, but on
no account to open it. She will not be able to help doing so, and then
you will be quite satisfied with the result.’ So the Queen came to
Graciosa, and said:

‘Carry this box to my castle, and place it upon the table in my own
room. But I forbid you on pain of death to look at what it contains.’

Graciosa set out, wearing her little cap and wooden shoes and the old
cotton frock, but even in this disguise she was so beautiful that all
the passers-by wondered who she could be. She had not gone far before
the heat of the sun and the weight of the box tired her so much that
she sat down to rest in the shade of a little wood which lay on one
side of a green meadow. She was carefully holding the box upon her lap
when she suddenly felt the greatest desire to open it.

‘What could possibly happen if I did?’ she said to herself. ‘I should
not take anything out. I should only just see what was there.’

And without farther hesitation she lifted the cover.

Instantly out came swarms of little men and women, no taller than her
finger, and scattered themselves all over the meadow, singing and
dancing, and playing the merriest games, so that at first Graciosa was
delighted and watched them with much amusement. But presently, when she
was rested and wished to go on her way, she found that, do what she
would, she could not get them back into their box. If she chased them
in the meadow they fled into the wood, and if she pursued them into the
wood they dodged round trees and behind sprigs of moss, and with peals
of elfin laughter scampered back again into the meadow.

At last, weary and terrified, she sat down and cried.

‘It is my own fault,’ she said sadly. ‘Percinet, if you can still care
for such an imprudent Princess, do come and help me once more.’

Immediately Percinet stood before her.

‘Ah, Princess!’ he said, ‘but for the wicked Queen I fear you would
never think of me at all.’

‘Indeed I should,’ said Graciosa; ‘I am not so ungrateful as you think.
Only wait a little and I believe I shall love you quite dearly.’

Percinet was pleased at this, and with one stroke of his wand compelled
all the wilful little people to come back to their places in the box,
and then rendering the Princess invisible he took her with him in his
chariot to the castle.

When the Princess presented herself at the door, and said that the
Queen had ordered her to place the box in her own room, the governor
laughed heartily at the idea.

‘No, no, my little shepherdess,’ said he, ‘that is not the place for
you. No wooden shoes have ever been over that floor yet.’

Then Graciosa begged him to give her a written message telling the
Queen that he had refused to admit her. This he did, and she went back
to Percinet, who was waiting for her, and they set out together for the
palace. You may imagine that they did not go the shortest way, but the
Princess did not find it too long, and before they parted she had
promised that if the Queen was still cruel to her, and tried again to
play her any spiteful trick, she would leave her and come to Percinet
for ever.

When the Queen saw her returning she fell upon the Fairy, whom she had
kept with her, and pulled her hair, and scratched her face, and would
really have killed her if a Fairy could be killed. And when the
Princess presented the letter and the box she threw them both upon the
fire without opening them, and looked very much as if she would like to
throw the Princess after them. However, what she really did do was to
have a great hole as deep as a well dug in her garden, and the top of
it covered with a flat stone. Then she went and walked near it, and
said to Graciosa and all her ladies who were with her:

‘I am told that a great treasure lies under that stone; let us see if
we can lift it.’

So they all began to push and pull at it, and Graciosa among the
others, which was just what the Queen wanted; for as soon as the stone
was lifted high enough, she gave the Princess a push which sent her
down to the bottom of the well, and then the stone was let fall again,
and there she was a prisoner. Graciosa felt that now indeed she was
hopelessly lost, surely not even Percinet could find her in the heart
of the earth.

‘This is like being buried alive,’ she said with a shudder. ‘Oh,
Percinet! if you only knew how I am suffering for my want of trust in
you! But how could I be sure that you would not be like other men and
tire of me from the moment you were sure I loved you?’

As she spoke she suddenly saw a little door open, and the sunshine
blazed into the dismal well. Graciosa did not hesitate an instant, but
passed through into a charming garden. Flowers and fruit grew on every
side, fountains plashed, and birds sang in the branches overhead, and
when she reached a great avenue of trees and looked up to see where it
would lead her, she found herself close to the palace of crystal. Yes!
there was no mistaking it, and the Queen and Percinet were coming to
meet her.

‘Ah, Princess!’ said the Queen, ‘don’t keep this poor Percinet in
suspense any longer. You little guess the anxiety he has suffered while
you were in the power of that miserable Queen.’

The Princess kissed her gratefully, and promised to do as she wished in
everything, and holding out her hand to Percinet, with a smile, she
said:

‘Do you remember telling me that I should not see your palace again
until I had been buried? I wonder if you guessed then that, when that
happened, I should tell you that I love you with all my heart, and will
marry you whenever you like?’

Prince Percinet joyfully took the hand that was given him, and, for
fear the Princess should change her mind, the wedding was held at once
with the greatest splendour, and Graciosa and Percinet lived happily
ever after.[11]

 [11] _Gracieuse et Percinet_. Mdme. d’Aulnoy.




THE THREE PRINCESSES OF WHITELAND


There was once upon a time a fisherman, who lived hard by a palace and
fished for the King’s table. One day he was out fishing, but caught
nothing at all. Let him do what he might with rod and line, there was
never even so much as a sprat on his hook; but when the day was well
nigh over, a head rose up out of the water, and said: ‘If you will give
me what your wife shows you when you go home, you shall catch fish
enough.’

So the man said ‘Yes’ in a moment, and then he caught fish in plenty;
but when he got home at night, and his wife showed him a baby which had
just been born, and fell a-weeping and wailing when he told her of the
promise which he had given, he was very unhappy.

All this was soon told to the King up at the palace, and when he heard
what sorrow the woman was in, and the reason of it, he said that he
himself would take the child and see if he could not save it. The baby
was a boy, and the King took him at once and brought him up as his own
son until the lad grew up. Then one day he begged to have leave to go
out with his father to fish; he had a strong desire to do this, he
said. The King was very unwilling to permit it, but at last the lad got
leave. He stayed with his father, and all went prosperously and well
with them the whole day, until they came back to land in the evening.
Then the lad found that he had lost his pocket-handkerchief, and would
go out in the boat after it; but no sooner had he got into the boat
than it began to move off with him so quickly that the water foamed all
round about, and all that the lad did to keep the boat back with the
oars was done to no purpose, for it went on and on the whole night
through, and at last he came to a white strand that lay far, far away.
There he landed, and when he had walked on for some distance he met an
old man with a long white beard.

‘What is the name of this country?’ said the youth.

‘Whiteland,’ answered the man, and then he begged the youth to tell him
whence he came and what he was going to do, and the youth did so.

‘Well, then,’ said the man, ‘if you walk on farther along the seashore
here, you will come to three princesses who are standing in the earth
so that their heads alone are out of it. Then the first of them will
call you—she is the eldest—and will beg you very prettily to come to
her and help her, and the second will do the same, but you must not go
near either of them. Hurry past, as if you neither saw nor heard them;
but you shall go to the third and do what she bids you; it will bring
you good fortune.’

When the youth came to the first princess, she called to him and begged
him to come to her very prettily, but he walked on as if he did not
even see her, and he passed by the second in the same way, but he went
up to the third.

‘If thou wilt do what I tell thee, thou shalt choose among us three,’
said the Princess.

So the lad said that he was most willing, and she told him that three
Trolls had planted them all three there in the earth, but that formerly
they had dwelt in the castle which he could see at some distance in the
wood.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘thou shalt go into the castle, and let the Trolls
beat thee one night for each of us, and if thou canst but endure that,
thou wilt set us free.’

‘Yes,’ answered the lad, ‘I will certainly try to do so.’

‘When thou goest in,’ continued the Princess, ‘two lions will stand by
the doorway, but if thou only goest straight between them they will do
thee no harm; go straight forward into a small dark chamber; there thou
shalt lie down. Then the Troll will come and beat thee, but thou shalt
take the flask which is hanging on the wall, and anoint thyself
wheresoever he has wounded thee, after which thou shalt be as well as
before. Then lay hold of the sword which is hanging by the side of the
flask, and smite the Troll dead.’

So he did what the Princess had told him. He walked straight in between
the lions just as if he did not see them, and then into the small
chamber, and lay down on the bed.

The first night a Troll came with three heads and three rods, and beat
the lad most unmercifully; but he held out until the Troll was done
with him, and then he took the flask and rubbed himself. Having done
this, he grasped the sword and smote the Troll dead.

In the morning when he went to the sea-shore the Princesses were out of
the earth as far as their waists.

The next night everything happened in the same way, but the Troll who
came then had six heads and six rods, and he beat him much more
severely than the first had done but when the lad went out of doors
next morning, the Princesses were out of the earth as far as their
knees.

On the third night a Troll came who had nine heads and nine rods, and
he struck the lad and flogged him so long, that at last he swooned
away; so the Troll took him up and flung him against the wall, and this
made the flask of ointment fall down, and it splashed all over him, and
he became as strong as ever again.

Then, without loss of time, he grasped the sword and struck the Troll
dead, and in the morning when he went out of the castle the Princesses
were standing there entirely out of the earth. So he took the youngest
for his Queen, and lived with her very happily for a long time.

At last, however, he took a fancy to go home for a short time to see
his parents. His Queen did not like this, but when his longing grew so
great that he told her he must and would go, she said to him:

‘One thing shalt thou promise me, and that is, to do what thy father
bids thee, but not what thy mother bids thee,’ and this he promised.

So she gave him a ring, which enabled him who wore it to obtain two
wishes.

He wished himself at home, and instantly found himself there; but his
parents were so amazed at the splendour of his apparel that their
wonder never ceased.

When he had been at home for some days his mother wanted him to go up
to the palace, to show the King what a great man he had become.

The father said, ‘No; he must not do that, for if he does we shall have
no more delight in him this time;’ but he spoke in vain, for the mother
begged and prayed until at last he went.

When he arrived there he was more splendid, both in raiment and in all
else, than the other King, who did not like it, and said:

‘Well, you can see what kind of Queen mine is, but I can’t see yours. I
do not believe you have such a pretty Queen as I have.’

‘Would to heaven she were standing here, and then you would be able to
see!’ said the young King, and in an instant she was standing there.

But she was very sorrowful, and said to him, ‘Why didst thou not
remember my words, and listen only to what thy father said? Now must I
go home again at once, and thou hast wasted both thy wishes.’

Then she tied a ring in his hair, which had her name upon it, and
wished herself at home again.

And now the young King was deeply afflicted, and day out and day in
went about thinking of naught else but how to get back again to his
Queen. ‘I will try to see if there is any place where I can learn how
to find Whiteland,’ he thought, and journeyed forth out into the world.

When he had gone some distance he came to a mountain, where he met a
man who was Lord over all the beasts in the forest—for they all came to
him when he blew a horn which he had. So the King asked where Whiteland
was.

‘I do not know that,’ he answered, ‘but I will ask my beasts.’ Then he
blew his horn and inquired whether any of them knew where Whiteland
lay, but there was not one who knew that.

So the man gave him a pair of snow shoes. ‘When you have these on,’ he
said, ‘you will come to my brother, who lives hundreds of miles from
here; he is Lord over all the birds in the air—ask him. When you have
got there, just turn the shoes so that the toes point this way, and
then they will come home again of their own accord.’

When the King arrived there he turned the shoes as the Lord of the
beasts had bidden him, and they went back.

And now he once more asked after Whiteland, and the man summoned all
the birds together, and inquired if any of them knew where Whiteland
lay. No, none knew this. Long after the others there came an old eagle.
He had been absent ten whole years, but he too knew no more than the
rest.

‘Well, well,’ said the man, ‘then you shall have the loan of a pair of
snow shoes of mine. If you wear them you will get to my brother, who
lives hundreds of miles from here. He is Lord of all the fish in the
sea—you can ask him. But do not forget to turn the shoes round.’

The King thanked him, put on the shoes, and when he had got to him who
was Lord of all the fish in the sea, he turned the snow shoes round,
and back they went just as the others had gone, and he asked once more
where Whiteland was.

The man called the fish together with his horn, but none of them knew
anything about it. At last came an old, old pike, which he had great
difficulty in bringing home to him.

When he asked the pike, it said, ‘Yes, Whiteland is well known to me,
for I have been cook there these ten years. To-morrow morning I have to
go back there, for now the Queen, whose King is staying away, is to
marry some one else.’

‘If that be the case I will give you a piece of advice,’ said the man.
‘Not far from here on a moor stand three brothers, who have stood there
a hundred years fighting for a hat, a cloak, and a pair of boots; if
any one has these three things he can make himself invisible, and if he
desires to go to any place, he has but to wish and he is there. You may
tell them that you have a desire to try these things, and then you will
be able to decide which of the men is to have them.’

So the King thanked him and went, and did what he had said.

‘What is this that you are standing fighting about for ever and ever?’
said he to the brothers; ‘let me make a trial of these things, and then
I will judge between you.’

They willingly consented to this, but when he had got the hat, the
cloak, and the boots, he said, ‘Next time we meet you shall have my
decision,’ and hereupon he wished himself away.

While he was going quickly through the air he fell in with the North
Wind.

‘And where may you be going?’ said the North Wind.

‘To Whiteland,’ said the King, and then he related what had happened to
him.

‘Well,’ said the North Wind, ‘you can easily go a little quicker than I
can, for I have to puff and blow into every corner; but when you get
there, place yourself on the stairs by the side of the door, and then I
will come blustering in as if I wanted to blow down the whole castle,
and when the Prince who is to have your Queen comes out to see what is
astir, just take him by the throat and fling him out, and then I will
try to carry him away from court.’

As the North Wind had said, so did the King. He stood on the stairs,
and when the North Wind came howling and roaring, and caught the roof
and walls of the castle till they shook again, the Prince went out to
see what was the matter; but as soon as he came the King took him by
the neck and flung him out, and then the North Wind laid hold of him
and carried him off. And when he was rid of him the King went into the
castle. At first the Queen did not know him, because he had grown so
thin and pale from having travelled so long and so sorrowfully; but
when she saw her ring she was heartily glad, and then the rightful
wedding was held, and held in such a way that it was talked about far
and wide.[12]

 [12] From J. Moe.




THE VOICE OF DEATH


Once upon a time there lived a man whose one wish and prayer was to get
rich. Day and night he thought of nothing else, and at last his prayers
were granted, and he became very wealthy. Now being so rich, and having
so much to lose, he felt that it would be a terrible thing to die and
leave all his possessions behind; so he made up his mind to set out in
search of a land where there was no death. He got ready for his
journey, took leave of his wife, and started. Whenever he came to a new
country the first question that he asked was whether people died in
that land, and when he heard that they did, he set out again on his
quest. At last he reached a country where he was told that the people
did not even know the meaning of the word death. Our traveller was
delighted when he heard this, and said:

‘But surely there are great numbers of people in your land, if no one
ever dies?’

‘No,’ they replied, ‘there are not great numbers, for you see from time
to time a voice is heard calling first one and then another, and
whoever hears that voice gets up and goes away, and never comes back.’

‘And do they see the person who calls them,’ he asked, ‘or do they only
hear his voice?’

‘They both see and hear him,’ was the answer.

Well, the man was amazed when he heard that the people were stupid
enough to follow the voice, though they knew that if they went when it
called them they would never return. And he went back to his own home
and got all his possessions together, and, taking his wife and family,
he set out resolved to go and live in that country where the people did
not die, but where instead they heard a voice calling them, which they
followed into a land from which they never returned. For he had made up
his own mind that when he or any of his family heard that voice they
would pay no heed to it, however loudly it called.

After he had settled down in his new home, and had got everything in
order about him, he warned his wife and family that, unless they wanted
to die, they must on no account listen to a voice which they might some
day hear calling them.

For some years everything went well with them, and they lived happily
in their new home. But one day, while they were all sitting together
round the table, his wife suddenly started up, exclaiming in a loud
voice:

‘I am coming! I am coming!’

And she began to look round the room for her fur coat, but her husband
jumped up, and taking firm hold of her by the hand, held her fast, and
reproached her, saying:

‘Don’t you remember what I told you? Stay where you are unless you wish
to die.’

‘But don’t you hear that voice calling me?’ she answered. ‘I am merely
going to see why I am wanted. I shall come back directly.’

So she fought and struggled to get away from her husband, and to go
where the voice summoned. But he would not let her go, and had all the
doors of the house shut and bolted. When she saw that he had done this,
she said:

‘Very well, dear husband, I shall do what you wish, and remain where I
am.’

So her husband believed that it was all right, and that she had thought
better of it, and had got over her mad impulse to obey the voice. But a
few minutes later she made a sudden dash for one of the doors, opened
it and darted out, followed by her husband. He caught her by the fur
coat, and begged and implored her not to go, for if she did she would
certainly never return. She said nothing, but let her arms fall
backwards, and suddenly bending herself forward, she slipped out of the
coat, leaving it in her husband’s hands. He, poor man, seemed turned to
stone as he gazed after her hurrying away from him, and calling at the
top of her voice, as she ran:

‘I am coming! I am coming!’

When she was quite out of sight her husband recovered his wits and went
back into his house, murmuring:

‘If she is so foolish as to wish to die, I can’t help it. I warned and
implored her to pay no heed to that voice, however loudly it might
call.’

Well, days and weeks and months and years passed, and nothing happened
to disturb the peace of the household. But one day the man was at the
barber’s as usual, being shaved. The shop was full of people, and his
chin had just been covered with a lather of soap, when, suddenly
starting up from the chair, he called out in a loud voice:

‘I won’t come, do you hear? I won’t come!’

The barber and the other people in the shop listened to him with
amazement. But again looking towards the door, he exclaimed:

‘I tell you, once and for all, I do not mean to come, so go away.’

And a few minutes later he called out again:

‘Go away, I tell you, or it will be the worse for you. You may call as
much as you like but you will never get me to come.’

And he got so angry that you might have thought that some one was
actually standing at the door, tormenting him. At last he jumped up,
and caught the razor out of the barber’s hand, exclaiming:

‘Give me that razor, and I’ll teach him to let people alone for the
future.’

And he rushed out of the house as if he were running after some one,
whom no one else saw. The barber, determined not to lose his razor,
pursued the man, and they both continued running at full speed till
they had got well out of the town, when all of a sudden the man fell
head foremost down a precipice, and never was seen again. So he too,
like the others, had been forced against his will to follow the voice
that called him.

The barber, who went home whistling and congratulating himself on the
escape he had made, described what had happened, and it was noised
abroad in the country that the people who had gone away, and had never
returned, had all fallen into that pit; for till then they had never
known what had happened to those who had heard the voice and obeyed its
call.

But when crowds of people went out from the town to examine the
ill-fated pit that had swallowed up such numbers, and yet never seemed
to be full, they could discover nothing. All that they could see was a
vast plain, that looked as if it had been there since the beginning of
the world. And from that time the people of the country began to die
like ordinary mortals all the world over.[13]

 [13] Roumanian Tales from the German of Mite Thremnitz.




THE SIX SILLIES


Once upon a time there was a young girl who reached the age of
thirty-seven without ever having had a lover, for she was so foolish
that no one wanted to marry her.

One day, however, a young man arrived to pay his addresses to her, and
her mother, beaming with joy, sent her daughter down to the cellar to
draw a jug of beer.

As the girl never came back the mother went down to see what had become
of her, and found her sitting on the stairs, her head in her hands,
while by her side the beer was running all over the floor, as she had
forgotten to close the tap. ‘What are you doing there?’ asked the
mother.

‘I was thinking what I shall call my first child after I am married to
that young man. All the names in the calendar are taken already.’

The mother sat down on the staircase beside her daughter and said, ‘I
will think about it with you, my dear.’

The father who had stayed upstairs with the young man was surprised
that neither his wife nor his daughter came back, and in his turn went
down to look for them. He found them both sitting on the stairs, while
beside them the beer was running all over the ground from the tap,
which was wide open.

‘What are you doing there? The beer is running all over the cellar.’

‘We were thinking what we should call the children that our daughter
will have when she marries that young man. All the names in the
calendar are taken already.’

‘Well,’ said the father, ‘I will think about it with you.’

As neither mother nor daughter nor father came upstairs again, the
lover grew impatient, and went down into the cellar to see what they
could all be doing. He found them all three sitting on the stairs,
while beside them the beer was running all over the ground from the
tap, which was wide open.

‘What in the world are you all doing that you don’t come upstairs, and
that you let the beer run all over the cellar?’

‘Yes, I know, my boy,’ said the father, ‘but if you marry our daughter
what shall you call your children? All the names in the calendar are
taken.’

When the young man heard this answer he replied:

‘Well! good-bye, I am going away. When I shall have found three people
sillier than you I will come back and marry your daughter.’

So he continued his journey, and after walking a long way he reached an
orchard. Then he saw some people knocking down walnuts, and trying to
throw them into a cart with a fork.

‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.

‘We want to load the cart with our walnuts, but we can’t manage to do
it.’

The lover advised them to get a basket and to put the walnuts in it, so
as to turn them into the cart.

‘Well,’ he said to himself, ‘I have already found someone more foolish
than those three.’

So he went on his way, and by-and-by he came to a wood. There he saw a
man who wanted to give his pig some acorns to eat, and was trying with
all his might to make him climb up the oak-tree.

‘What are you doing, my good man?’ asked he.

‘I want to make my pig eat some acorns, and I can’t get him to go up
the tree.’

‘If you were to climb up and shake down the acorns the pig would pick
them up.’

‘Oh, I never thought of that.’

‘Here is the second idiot,’ said the lover to himself.

Some way farther along the road he came upon a man who had never worn
any trousers, and who was trying to put on a pair. So he had fastened
them to a tree and was jumping with all his might up in the air so that
he should hit the two legs of the trousers as he came down.

‘It would be much better if you held them in your hands,’ said the
young man, ‘and then put your legs one after the other in each hole.’

‘Dear me to be sure! You are sharper than I am, for that never occurred
to me.’

And having found three people more foolish than his bride, or her
father or her mother, the lover went back to marry the young lady.

And in course of time they had a great many children.

Story from Hainaut.
(M. Lemoine. _La Tradition_. No, 34,)




KARI WOODENGOWN


There was once upon a time a King who had become a widower. His Queen
had left one daughter behind her, and she was so wise and so pretty
that it was impossible for any one to be wiser or prettier. For a long
time the King went sorrowing for his wife, for he had loved her
exceedingly; but at last he grew tired of living alone, and married a
Queen who was a widow, and she also had a daughter, who was just as
ill-favoured and wicked as the other was good and beautiful. The
stepmother and her daughter were envious of the King’s daughter because
she was so pretty, but so long as the King was at home they dared do
her no harm, because his love for her was so great.

Then there came a time when he made war on another King and went away
to fight, and then the new Queen thought that she could do what she
liked; so she both hungered and beat the King’s daughter and chased her
about into every corner. At last she thought that everything was too
good for her, and set her to work to look after the cattle. So she went
about with the cattle, and herded them in the woods and in the fields.
Of food she got little or none, and grew pale and thin, and was nearly
always weeping and sad. Among the herd there was a great blue bull,
which always kept itself very smart and sleek, and often came to the
King’s daughter and let her stroke him. So one day, when she was again
sitting crying and sorrowing, the Bull came up to her and asked why she
was always so full of care? She made no answer, but continued to weep.

‘Well,’ said the Bull, ‘I know what it is, though you will not tell me;
you are weeping because the Queen is unkind to you, and because she
wants to starve you to death. But you need be under no concern about
food, for in my left ear there lies a cloth, and if you will but take
it and spread it out, you can have as many dishes as you like.’

So she did this, and took the cloth and spread it out upon the grass,
and then it was covered with the daintiest dishes that any one could
desire, and there was wine, and mead, and cake. And now she became
brisk and well again, and grew so rosy, and plump, and fair that the
Queen and her scraggy daughter turned blue and white with vexation at
it. The Queen could not imagine how her step-daughter could look so
well on such bad food, so she ordered one of her handmaidens to follow
her into the wood and watch her, and see how it was, for she thought
that some of the servants must be giving her food. So the maid followed
her into the wood and watched, and saw how the step-daughter took the
cloth out of the Blue Bull’s ear, and spread it out, and how the cloth
was then covered with the most delicate dishes, which the step-daughter
ate and regaled herself with. So the waiting-maid went home and told
the Queen.

And now the King came home, and he had conquered the other King with
whom he had been at war. So there was great gladness in the palace, but
no one was more glad than the King’s daughter. The Queen, however,
pretended to be ill, and gave the doctor much money to say that she
would never be well again unless she had some of the flesh of the Blue
Bull to eat. Both the King’s daughter and the people in the palace
asked the doctor if there were no other means of saving her, and begged
for the Bull’s life, for they were all fond of him, and they all
declared that there was no such Bull in the whole country; but it was
all in vain, he was to be killed, and should be killed, and nothing
else would serve. When the King’s daughter heard it she was full of
sorrow, and went down to the byre to the Bull. He too was standing
there hanging his head, and looking so downcast that she fell a-weeping
over him.

‘What are you weeping for?’ said the Bull.

So she told him that the King had come home again, and that the Queen
had pretended to be ill, and that she had made the doctor say that she
could never be well again unless some of the flesh of the Blue Bull was
given her to eat, and that now he was to be killed.

‘When once they have taken my life they will soon kill you also,’ said
the Bull. ‘If you are of the same mind with me, we will take our
departure this very night.’

The King’s daughter thought that it was bad to go and leave her father,
but that it was worse still to be in the same house with the Queen, so
she promised the Bull that she would come.

At night, when all the others had gone to bed, the King’s daughter
stole softly down to the byre to the Bull, and he took her on his back
and got out of the courtyard as quickly as he could. So at cock-crow
next morning, when the people came to kill the Bull, he was gone, and
when the King got up and asked for his daughter she was gone too. He
sent forth messengers to all parts of the kingdom to search for them,
and published his loss in all the parish churches, but there was no one
who had seen anything of them.

In the meantime the Bull travelled through many lands with the King’s
daughter on his back, and one day they came to a great copper-wood,
where the trees, and the branches, and the leaves, and the flowers, and
everything else was of copper.

But before they entered the wood the Bull said to the King’s daughter:

‘When we enter into this wood, you must take the greatest care not to
touch a leaf of it, or all will be over both with me and with you, for
a Troll with three heads, who is the owner of the wood, lives here.’

So she said she would be on her guard, and not touch anything. And she
was very careful, and bent herself out of the way of the branches, and
put them aside with her hands; but it was so thickly wooded that it was
all but impossible to get forward, and do what she might, she somehow
or other tore off a leaf which got into her hand.

‘Oh! oh! What have you done now?’ said the Bull. ‘It will now cost us a
battle for life or death; but do be careful to keep the leaf.’

Very soon afterwards they came to the end of the wood, and the Troll
with three heads came rushing up to them.

‘Who is that who is touching my wood?’ said the Troll.

‘The wood is just as much mine as yours!’ said the Bull.

‘We shall have a tussle for that!’ shrieked the Troll.

‘That may be,’ said the Bull.

So they rushed on each other and fought, and as for the Bull he butted
and kicked with all the strength of his body, but the Troll fought
quite as well as he did, and the whole day went by before the Bull put
an end to him, and then he himself was so full of wounds and so worn
out that he was scarcely able to move. So they had to wait a day, and
the Bull told the King’s daughter to take the horn of ointment which
hung at the Troll’s belt, and rub him with it; then he was himself
again, and the next day they set off once more. And now they journeyed
on for many, many days, and then after a long, long time they came to a
silver wood. The trees, and the boughs, and the leaves, and the
flowers, and everything else was of silver.

Before the Bull went into the wood, he said to the King’s daughter:
‘When we enter into this wood you must, for Heaven’s sake, be very
careful not to touch anything at all, and not to pluck off even so much
as one leaf, or else all will be over both with you and with me. A
Troll with six heads lives here, who is the owner of the wood, and I do
not think I should be able to overcome him.’

‘Yes,’ said the King’s daughter, ‘I will take good care not to touch
what you do not wish me to touch.’

But when they got into the wood it was so crowded, and the trees so
close together, that they could scarcely get forward. She was as
careful as she could be, and bent aside to get out of the way of the
branches, and thrust them away from before her with her hands; but
every instant a branch struck against her eyes, and in spite of all her
care, she happened to pull off one leaf.

‘Oh! oh! What have you done now?’ said the Bull. It will now cost us a
battle for life or death, for this Troll has six heads and is twice as
strong as the other, but do be careful to keep the leaf.’

Just as he said this came the Troll. ‘Who is that who is touching my
wood?’ he said.

‘It is just as much mine as yours!’

‘We shall have a tussle for that!’ screamed the Troll.

‘That may be,’ said the Bull, and rushed at the Troll, and gored out
his eyes, and drove his horns right through him so that his entrails
gushed out, but the Troll fought just as well as he did, and it was
three whole days before the Bull got the life out of him. But the Bull
was then so weak and worn out that it was only with pain and effort
that he could move, and so covered with wounds that the blood streamed
from him. So he told the King’s daughter to take the horn of ointment
that was hanging at the Troll’s belt, and anoint him with it. She did
this, and then he came to himself again, but they had to stay there and
rest for a week before the Bull was able to go any farther.

At last they set forth on their way again, but the Bull was still weak,
and at first could not go quickly. The King’s daughter wished to spare
him, and said that she was so young and light of foot that she would
willingly walk, but he would not give her leave to do that, and she was
forced to seat herself on his back again. So they travelled for a long
time, and through many lands, and the King’s daughter did not at all
know where he was taking her, but after a long, long time they came to
a gold wood. It was so golden that the gold dripped off it, and the
trees, and the branches, and the flowers, and the leaves were all of
pure gold. Here all happened just as it had happened in the copper wood
and silver wood. The Bull told the King’s daughter that on no account
was she to touch it, for there was a Troll with nine heads who was the
owner, and that he was much larger and stronger than both the others
put together, and that he did not believe that he could overcome him.
So she said that she would take great care not to touch anything, and
he should see that she did. But when they got into the wood it was
still thicker than the silver wood, and the farther they got into it
the worse it grew. The wood became thicker and thicker, and closer and
closer, and at last she thought there was no way whatsoever by which
they could get forward; she was so terrified lest she should break
anything off, that she sat and twisted, and turned herself on this side
and on that, to get out of the way of the branches, and pushed them
away from her with her hands, but every moment they struck against her
eyes, so that she could not see what she was clutching at, and before
she knew what she was doing she had a golden apple in her hands. She
was now in such terror that she began to cry, and wanted to throw it
away, but the Bull said that she was to keep it, and take the greatest
care of it, and comforted her as well as he could, but he believed that
it would be a hard struggle, and he doubted whether it would go well
with him.

Just then the Troll with nine heads came, and he was so frightful that
the King’s daughter scarcely dared to look at him

‘Who is this who is breaking my wood?’ he screamed.

‘It is as much mine as yours!’ said the Bull.

‘We shall have a tussle for that!’ screamed the Troll.

‘That may be,’ said the Bull; so they rushed at each other, and fought,
and it was such a dreadful sight that the King’s daughter very nearly
swooned. The Bull gored the Troll’s eyes out and ran his horns right
through him, but the Troll fought as well as he did, and when the Bull
had gored one head to death the other heads breathed life into it
again, so it was a whole week before the Bull was able to kill him. But
then he himself was so worn out and weak that he could not move at all.
His body was all one wound, and he could not even so much as tell the
King’s daughter to take the horn of ointment out of the Troll’s belt
and rub him with it. She did this without being told; so he came to
himself again, but he had to lie there for three weeks and rest before
he was in a state to move.

Then they journeyed onwards by degrees, for the Bull said that they had
still a little farther to go, and in this way they crossed many high
hills and thick woods. This lasted for a while, and then they came upon
the fells.

‘Do you see anything?’ asked the Bull.

‘No, I see nothing but the sky above and the wild fell side,’ said the
King’s daughter.

Then they climbed up higher, and the fell grew more level, so that they
could see farther around them.

‘Do you see anything now?’ said the Bull.

‘Yes, I see a small castle, far, far away,’ said the Princess.

‘It is not so very little after all,’ said the Bull.

After a long, long time they came to a high hill, where there was a
precipitous wall of rock.

‘Do you see nothing now?’ said the Bull.

‘Yes, now I see the castle quite near, and now it is much, much
larger,’ said the King’s daughter.

‘Thither shall you go,’ said the Bull; ‘immediately below the castle
there is a pig-sty, where you shall dwell. When you get there, you will
find a wooden gown which you are to put on, and then go to the castle
and say that you are called Kari Woodengown, and that you are seeking a
place. But now you must take out your little knife and cut off my head
with it, and then you must flay me and roll up my hide and put it there
under the rock, and beneath the hide you must lay the copper leaf, and
the silver leaf, and the golden apple. Close beside the rock a stick is
standing, and when you want me for anything you have only to knock at
the wall of rock with that.’

At first she would not do it, but when the Bull said that this was the
only reward that he would have for what he had done for her, she could
do no otherwise. So though she thought it very cruel, she slaved on and
cut at the great animal with the knife till she had cut off his head
and hide, and then she folded up the hide and laid it beneath the
mountain wall, and put the copper leaf, and the silver leaf, and the
golden apple inside it.

When she had done that she went away to the pig-sty, but all the way as
she went she wept, and was very sorrowful. Then she put on the wooden
gown, and walked to the King’s palace. When she got there she went into
the kitchen and begged for a place, saying that her name was Kari
Woodengown.

The cook told her that she might have a place and leave to stay there
at once and wash up, for the girl who had done that before had just
gone away. ‘And as soon as you get tired of being here you will take
yourself off too,’ said he.

‘No,’ said she, ‘that I shall certainly not.’

And then she washed up, and did it very tidily.

On Sunday some strangers were coming to the King’s palace, so Kari
begged to have leave to carry up the water for the Prince’s bath, but
the others laughed at her and said, ‘What do you want there? Do you
think the Prince will ever look at such a fright as you?’

She would not give it up, however, but went on begging until at last
she got leave. When she was going upstairs her wooden gown made such a
clatter that the Prince came out and said, ‘What sort of a creature may
you be?’

‘I was to take this water to you,’ said Kari.

‘Do you suppose that I will have any water that you bring?’ said the
Prince, and emptied it over her.

She had to bear that, but then she asked permission to go to church.
She got that, for the church was very near. But first she went to the
rock and knocked at it with the stick which was standing there, as the
Bull had told her to do. Instantly a man came forth and asked what she
wanted. The King’s daughter said that she had got leave to go to church
and listen to the priest, but that she had no clothes to go in. So he
brought her a gown that was as bright as the copper wood, and she got a
horse and saddle too from him. When she reached the church she was so
pretty and so splendidly dressed that every one wondered who she could
be, and hardly anyone listened to what the priest was saying, for they
were all looking far too much at her, and the Prince himself liked her
so well that he could not take his eyes off her for an instant. As she
was walking out of church the Prince followed her and shut the church
door after her, and thus he kept one of her gloves in his hand. Then
she went away and mounted her horse again; the Prince again followed
her, and asked her whence she came.

‘Oh! I am from Bathland,’ said Kari. And when the Prince took out the
glove and wanted to give it back to her, she said:

‘Darkness behind me, but light on my way,
That the Prince may not see where I’m going to-day!’


The Prince had never seen the equal of that glove, and he went far and
wide, asking after the country which the proud lady, who rode away
without her glove, had said that she came from, but there was no one
who could tell him where it lay.

Next Sunday some one had to take up a towel to the Prince.

‘Ah! may I have leave to go up with that?’ said Kari.

‘What would be the use of that?’ said the others who were in the
kitchen; ‘you saw what happened last time.’

Kari would not give in, but went on begging for leave till she got it,
and then she ran up the stairs so that her wooden gown clattered again.
Out came the Prince, and when he saw that it was Kari, he snatched the
towel from her and flung it right in her eyes.

‘Be off at once, you ugly Troll,’ said he; ‘do you think that I will
have a towel that has been touched by your dirty fingers?’

After that the Prince went to church, and Kari also asked leave to go.
They all asked how she could want to go to church when she had nothing
to wear but that wooden gown, which was so black and hideous. But Kari
said she thought the priest was such a good man at preaching that she
got so much benefit from what he said, and at last she got leave.

She went to the rock and knocked, whereupon out came the man and gave
her a gown which was much more magnificent than the first. It was
embroidered with silver all over it, and it shone like the silver wood,
and he gave her also a most beautiful horse, with housings embroidered
with silver, and a bridle of silver too.

When the King’s daughter got to church all the people were standing
outside upon the hillside, and all of them wondered who on earth she
could be, and the Prince was on the alert in a moment, and came and
wanted to hold her horse while she alighted. But she jumped off and
said that there was no need for that, for the horse was so well broken
in that it stood still when she bade it and came when she called it. So
they all went into the church together, but there was scarcely any one
who listened to what the priest was saying, for they were all looking
far too much at her, and the Prince fell much more deeply in love with
her than he had been before.

When the sermon was over and she went out of the church, and was just
going to mount her horse, the Prince again came and asked her where she
came from.

‘I am from Towelland,’ said the King’s daughter, and as she spoke she
dropped her riding-whip, and while the Prince was stooping to pick it
up she said:

‘Darkness behind me, but light on my way,
That the Prince may not see where I’m going to-day!’


And she was gone again, neither could the Prince see what had become of
her. He went far and wide to inquire for that country from whence she
had said that she came, but there was no one who could tell him where
it lay, so he was forced to have patience once more.

Next Sunday some one had to go to the Prince with a comb. Kari begged
for leave to go with it, but the others reminded her of what had
happened last time, and scolded her for wanting to let the Prince see
her when she was so black and so ugly in her wooden gown, but she would
not give up asking until they gave her leave to go up to the Prince
with the comb. When she went clattering up the stairs again, out came
the Prince and took the comb and flung it at her, and ordered her to be
off as fast as she could. After that the Prince went to church, and
Kari also begged for leave to go. Again they all asked what she would
do there, she who was so black and ugly, and had no clothes that she
could be seen in by other people. The Prince or some one else might
very easily catch sight of her, they said, and then both she and they
would suffer for it; but Kari said that they had something else to do
than to look at her, and she never ceased begging until she got leave
to go.

And now all happened just as it had happened twice already. She went
away to the rock and knocked at it with the stick, and then the man
came out and gave her a gown which was very much more magnificent than
either of the others. It was almost entirely made of pure gold and
diamonds, and she also got a noble horse with housings embroidered with
gold, and a golden bridle.

When the King’s daughter came to the church the priest and people were
all standing on the hillside waiting for her, and the Prince ran up and
wanted to hold the horse, but she jumped off, saying:

‘No, thank you, there is no need; my horse is so well broken in that it
will stand still when I bid it.’

So they all hastened into the church together and the priest got into
the pulpit, but no one listened to what he said, for they were looking
far too much at her and wondering whence she came; and the Prince was
far more in love than he had been on either of the former occasions,
and he was mindful of nothing but of looking at her.

When the sermon was over and the King’s daughter was about to leave the
church, the Prince had caused a firkin of tar to be emptied out in the
porch in order that he might go to help her over it; she, however, did
not trouble herself in the least about the tar, but set her foot down
in the middle of it and jumped over it, and thus one of her gold shoes
was left sticking in it. When she had seated herself on the horse the
Prince came running out of the church and asked her whence she came.

‘From Combland,’ said Kari. But when the Prince wanted to reach her her
gold shoe, she said:

‘Darkness behind me, but light on my way,
That the Prince may not see where I’m going to-day!’


The Prince did not know what had become of her, so he travelled for a
long and wearisome time all over the world, asking where Combland was;
but when no one could tell him where that country was, he caused it to
be made known everywhere that he would marry any woman who could put on
the gold shoe. So fair maidens and ugly maidens came thither from all
regions, but there was none who had a foot so small that she could put
on the gold shoe. After a long, long while came Kari Woodengown’s
wicked stepmother, with her daughter too, and the shoe fitted her. But
she was so ugly and looked so loathsome that the Prince was very
unwilling to do what he had promised. Nevertheless all was got ready
for the wedding, and she was decked out as a bride, but as they were
riding to church a little bird sat upon a tree and sang:

‘A slice off her heel
And a slice off her toes,
Kari Woodengown’s shoe
Fills with blood as she goes!’


And when they looked to it the bird had spoken the truth, for blood was
trickling out of the shoe. So all the waiting-maids, and all the
womenkind in the castle had to come and try on the shoe, but there was
not one whom it would fit.

‘But where is Kari Woodengown, then?’ asked the Prince, when all the
others had tried on the shoe, for he understood the song of birds and
it came to his mind what the bird had said.

‘Oh! that creature!’ said the others; ‘it’s not the least use for her
to come here, for she has feet like a horse!’

‘That may be,’ said the Prince, ‘but as all the others have tried it,
Kari may try it too.’

‘Kari!’ he called out through the door, and Kari came upstairs, and her
wooden gown clattered as if a whole regiment of dragoons were coming
up.

‘Now, you are to try on the gold shoe and be a Princess,’ said the
other servants, and they laughed at her and mocked her. Kari took up
the shoe, put her foot into it as easily as possible, and then threw
off her wooden gown, and there she stood in the golden gown which
flashed like rays of sunshine, and on her other foot she had the fellow
to the gold shoe. The Prince knew her in a moment, and was so glad that
he ran and took her in his arms and kissed her, and when he heard that
she was a King’s daughter he was gladder still, and then they had the
wedding.[14]

 [14] From P. C. Asbjørnsen.




DRAKESTAIL


Drakestail was very little, that is why he was called Drakestail; but
tiny as he was he had brains, and he knew what he was about, for having
begun with nothing he ended by amassing a hundred crowns. Now the King
of the country, who was very extravagant and never kept any money,
having heard that Drakestail had some, went one day in his own person
to borrow his hoard, and, my word, in those days Drakestail was not a
little proud of having lent money to the King. But after the first and
second year, seeing that they never even dreamed of paying the
interest, he became uneasy, so much so that at last he resolved to go
and see His Majesty himself, and get repaid. So one fine morning
Drakestail, very spruce and fresh, takes the road, singing: ‘Quack,
quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?’

He had not gone far when he met friend Fox, on his rounds that way.

‘Good-morning, neighbour,’ says the friend, ‘where are you off to so
early?’

‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’

‘Oh! take me with thee!’

Drakestail said to himself: ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ ... ‘I
will,’ says he, ‘but going on all-fours you will soon be tired. Make
yourself quite small, get into my throat—go into my gizzard and I will
carry you.’

‘Happy thought!’ says friend Fox.

He takes bag and baggage, and, presto! is gone like a letter into the
post.

And Drakestail is off again, all spruce and fresh, still singing:
‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall I have my money back?’

He had not gone far when he met his lady-friend Ladder, leaning on her
wall.

‘Good morning, my duckling,’ says the lady friend, ‘whither away so
bold?’

‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’

‘Oh! take me with thee!’

Drakestail said to himself: ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ ... ‘I
will,’ says he, ‘but with your wooden legs you will soon be tired. Make
yourself quite small, get into my throat—go into my gizzard and I will
carry you.’

‘Happy thought!’ says my friend Ladder, and nimble, bag and baggage,
goes to keep company with friend Fox.

And ‘Quack, quack, quack.’ Drakestail is off again, singing and spruce
as before. A little farther he meets his sweetheart, my friend River,
wandering quietly in the sunshine.

‘Thou, my cherub,’ says she, ‘whither so lonesome, with arching tail,
on this muddy road?’

‘I am going to the King, you know, for what he owes me.’

‘Oh! take me with thee!’

Drakestail said to himself: ‘We can’t be too many friends.’... ‘I
will,’ says he, ‘but you who sleep while you walk will soon be tired.
Make yourself quite small, get into my throat—go into my gizzard and I
will carry you.’

‘Ah! happy thought!’ says my friend River.

She takes bag and baggage, and glou, glou, glou, she takes her place
between friend Fox and my friend Ladder.

And ‘Quack, quack, quack.’ Drakestail is off again singing.

A little farther on he meets comrade Wasp’s-nest, manoeuvring his
wasps.

‘Well, good-morning, friend Drakestail,’ said comrade Wasp’s-nest,
‘where are we bound for so spruce and fresh?’

‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’

‘Oh! take me with thee!’

Drakestail said to himself, ‘One can’t have too many friends.’... ‘I
will,’ says he, ‘but with your battalion to drag along, you will soon
be tired. Make yourself quite small, go into my throat—get into my
gizzard and I will carry you.’

‘By Jove! that’s a good idea!’ says comrade Wasp’s-nest.

And left file! he takes the same road to join the others with all his
party. There was not much more room, but by closing up a bit they
managed.... And Drakestail is off again singing.

He arrived thus at the capital, and threaded his way straight up the
High Street, still running and singing ‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall
I get my money back?’ to the great astonishment of the good folks, till
he came to the King’s palace.

He strikes with the knocker: ‘Toc! toc!’

‘Who is there?’ asks the porter, putting his head out of the wicket.

‘’Tis I, Drakestail. I wish to speak to the King.’

‘Speak to the King!... That’s easily said. The King is dining, and will
not be disturbed.’

‘Tell him that it is I, and I have come he well knows why.’

The porter shuts his wicket and goes up to say it to the King, who was
just sitting down to dinner with a napkin round his neck, and all his
ministers.

‘Good, good!’ said the King laughing. ‘I know what it is! Make him come
in, and put him with the turkeys and chickens.’

The porter descends.

‘Have the goodness to enter.’

‘Good!’ says Drakestail to himself, ‘I shall now see how they eat at
court.’

‘This way, this way,’ says the porter. ‘One step further.... There,
there you are.’

‘How? what? in the poultry yard?’

Fancy how vexed Drakestail was!

‘Ah! so that’s it,’ says he. ‘Wait! I will compel you to receive me.
Quack, quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?’ But turkeys and
chickens are creatures who don’t like people that are not as
themselves. When they saw the new-comer and how he was made, and when
they heard him crying too, they began to look black at him.

‘What is it? what does he want?’

Finally they rushed at him all together, to overwhelm him with pecks.

‘I am lost!’ said Drakestail to himself, when by good luck he remembers
his comrade friend Fox, and he cries:

‘Reynard, Reynard, come out of your earth,
Or Drakestail’s life is of little worth.’


Then friend Fox, who was only waiting for these words, hastens out,
throws himself on the wicked fowls, and quick! quack! he tears them to
pieces; so much so that at the end of five minutes there was not one
left alive. And Drakestail, quite content, began to sing again, ‘Quack,
quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?’

When the King who was still at table heard this refrain, and the
poultry woman came to tell him what had been going on in the yard, he
was terribly annoyed.

He ordered them to throw this tail of a drake into the well, to make an
end of him.

And it was done as he commanded. Drakestail was in despair of getting
himself out of such a deep hole, when he remembered his lady friend,
the Ladder.

‘Ladder, Ladder, come out of thy hold,
Or Drakestail’s days will soon be told.’


My friend Ladder, who was only waiting for these words, hastens out,
leans her two arms on the edge of the well, then Drakestail climbs
nimbly on her back, and hop! he is in the yard, where he begins to sing
louder than ever.

When the King, who was still at table and laughing at the good trick he
had played his creditor, heard him again reclaiming his money, he
became livid with rage.

He commanded that the furnace should be heated, and this tail of a
drake thrown into it, because he must be a sorcerer.

The furnace was soon hot, but this time Drakestail was not so afraid;
he counted on his sweetheart, my friend River.

‘River, River, outward flow,
Or to death Drakestail must go.’


My friend River hastens out, and errouf! throws herself into the
furnace, which she floods, with all the people who had lighted it;
after which she flowed growling into the hall of the palace to the
height of more than four feet.

And Drakestail, quite content, begins to swim, singing deafeningly,
‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?’

The King was still at table, and thought himself quite sure of his
game; but when he heard Drakestail singing again, and when they told
him all that had passed, he became furious and got up from table
brandishing his fists.

‘Bring him here, and I’ll cut his throat! bring him here quick!’ cried
he.

And quickly two footmen ran to fetch Drakestail.

‘At last,’ said the poor chap, going up the great stairs, ‘they have
decided to receive me.’

Imagine his terror when on entering he sees the King as red as a turkey
cock, and all his ministers attending him standing sword in hand. He
thought this time it was all up with him. Happily, he remembered that
there was still one remaining friend, and he cried with dying accents:

‘Wasp’s-nest, Wasp’s-nest, make a sally,
Or Drakestail nevermore may rally.’


Hereupon the scene changes.

‘Bs, bs, bayonet them!’ The brave Wasp’s-nest rushes out with all his
wasps. They threw themselves on the infuriated King and his ministers,
and stung them so fiercely in the face that they lost their heads, and
not knowing where to hide themselves they all jumped pell-mell from the
window and broke their necks on the pavement.

Behold Drakestail much astonished, all alone in the big saloon and
master of the field. He could not get over it.

Nevertheless, he remembered shortly what he had come for to the palace,
and improving the occasion, he set to work to hunt for his dear money.
But in vain he rummaged in all the drawers; he found nothing; all had
been spent.

And ferreting thus from room to room he came at last to the one with
the throne in it, and feeling fatigued, he sat himself down on it to
think over his adventure. In the meanwhile the people had found their
King and his ministers with their feet in the air on the pavement, and
they had gone into the palace to know how it had occurred. On entering
the throne-room, when the crowd saw that there was already someone on
the royal seat, they broke out in cries of surprise and joy:

‘The King is dead, long live the King!
Heaven has sent us down this thing.’


Drakestail, who was no longer surprised at anything, received the
acclamations of the people as if he had never done anything else all
his life.

A few of them certainly murmured that a Drakestail would make a fine
King; those who knew him replied that a knowing Drakestail was a more
worthy King than a spendthrift like him who was lying on the pavement.
In short, they ran and took the crown off the head of the deceased, and
placed it on that of Drakestail, whom it fitted like wax.

Thus he became King.

‘And now,’ said he after the ceremony, ‘ladies and gentlemen, let’s go
to supper. I am so hungry!’[15]

 [15] _Contes_ of Ch. Marelles.




THE RATCATCHER


A very long time ago the town of Hamel in Germany was invaded by bands
of rats, the like of which had never been seen before nor will ever be
again.

They were great black creatures that ran boldly in broad daylight
through the streets, and swarmed so, all over the houses, that people
at last could not put their hand or foot down anywhere without touching
one. When dressing in the morning they found them in their breeches and
petticoats, in their pockets and in their boots; and when they wanted a
morsel to eat, the voracious horde had swept away everything from
cellar to garret. The night was even worse. As soon as the lights were
out, these untiring nibblers set to work. And everywhere, in the
ceilings, in the floors, in the cupboards, at the doors, there was a
chase and a rummage, and so furious a noise of gimlets, pincers, and
saws, that a deaf man could not have rested for one hour together.

Neither cats nor dogs, nor poison nor traps, nor prayers nor candles
burnt to all the saints—nothing would do anything. The more they killed
the more came. And the inhabitants of Hamel began to go to the dogs
(not that _they_ were of much use), when one Friday there arrived in
the town a man with a queer face, who played the bagpipes and sang this
refrain:

‘Qui vivra verra:
    Le voilà,
Le preneur des rats.’


He was a great gawky fellow, dry and bronzed, with a crooked nose, a
long rat-tail moustache, two great yellow piercing and mocking eyes,
under a large felt hat set off by a scarlet cock’s feather. He was
dressed in a green jacket with a leather belt and red breeches, and on
his feet were sandals fastened by thongs passed round his legs in the
gipsy fashion.

That is how he may be seen to this day, painted on a window of the
cathedral of Hamel.

He stopped on the great market-place before the town hall, turned his
back on the church and went on with his music, singing:

‘Who lives shall see:
This is he,
The ratcatcher.’


The town council had just assembled to consider once more this plague
of Egypt, from which no one could save the town.

The stranger sent word to the counsellors that, if they would make it
worth his while, he would rid them of all their rats before night, down
to the very last.

‘Then he is a sorcerer!’ cried the citizens with one voice; ‘we must
beware of him.’

The Town Counsellor, who was considered clever, reassured them.

He said: ‘Sorcerer or no, if this bagpiper speaks the truth, it was he
who sent us this horrible vermin that he wants to rid us of to-day for
money. Well, we must learn to catch the devil in his own snares. You
leave it to me.’

‘Leave it to the Town Counsellor,’ said the citizens one to another.

And the stranger was brought before them.

‘Before night,’ said he, ‘I shall have despatched all the rats in Hamel
if you will but pay me a _gros_ a head.’

‘A _gros_ a head!’ cried the citizens, ‘but that will come to millions
of florins!’

The Town Counsellor simply shrugged his shoulders and said to the
stranger:

‘A bargain! To work; the rats will be paid one _gros_ a head as you
ask.’

The bagpiper announced that he would operate that very evening when the
moon rose. He added that the inhabitants should at that hour leave the
streets free, and content themselves with looking out of their windows
at what was passing, and that it would be a pleasant spectacle. When
the people of Hamel heard of the bargain, they too exclaimed: ‘A _gros_
a head! but this will cost us a deal of money!’

‘Leave it to the Town Counsellor,’ said the town council with a
malicious air. And the good people of Hamel repeated with their
counsellors, ‘Leave it to the Town Counsellor.’

Towards nine at night the bagpiper re-appeared on the market place. He
turned, as at first, his back to the church, and the moment the moon
rose on the horizon, ‘Trarira, trari!’ the bagpipes resounded.

It was first a slow, caressing sound, then more and more lively and
urgent, and so sonorous and piercing that it penetrated as far as the
farthest alleys and retreats of the town.

Soon from the bottom of the cellars, the top of the garrets, from under
all the furniture, from all the nooks and corners of the houses, out
come the rats, search for the door, fling themselves into the street,
and trip, trip, trip, begin to run in file towards the front of the
town hall, so squeezed together that they covered the pavement like the
waves of flooded torrent.

When the square was quite full the bagpiper faced about, and, still
playing briskly, turned towards the river that runs at the foot of the
walls of Hamel.

Arrived there he turned round; the rats were following.

‘Hop! hop!’ he cried, pointing with his finger to the middle of the
stream, where the water whirled and was drawn down as if through a
funnel. And hop! hop! without hesitating, the rats took the leap, swam
straight to the funnel, plunged in head foremost and disappeared.

The plunging continued thus without ceasing till midnight.

At last, dragging himself with difficulty, came a big rat, white with
age, and stopped on the bank.

It was the king of the band.

‘Are they all there, friend Blanchet?’ asked the bagpiper.

‘They are all there,’ replied friend Blanchet.

‘And how many were they?’

‘Nine hundred and ninety thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine.’

‘Well reckoned?’

‘Well reckoned.’

‘Then go and join them, old sire, and au revoir.’

Then the old white rat sprang in his turn into the river, swam to the
whirlpool and disappeared.

When the bagpiper had thus concluded his business he went to bed at his
inn. And for the first time during three months the people of Hamel
slept quietly through the night.

The next morning, at nine o’clock, the bagpiper repaired to the town
hall, where the town council awaited him.

‘All your rats took a jump into the river yesterday,’ said he to the
counsellors, ‘and I guarantee that not one of them comes back. They
were nine hundred and ninety thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine, at
one _gros_ a head. Reckon!’

‘Let us reckon the heads first. One _gros_ a head is one head the
_gros_. Where are the heads?’

The ratcatcher did not expect this treacherous stroke. He paled with
anger and his eyes flashed fire.

‘The heads!’ cried he, ‘if you care about them, go and find them in the
river.’

‘So,’ replied the Town Counsellor, ‘you refuse to hold to the terms of
your agreement? We ourselves could refuse you all payment. But you have
been of use to us, and we will not let you go without a recompense,’
and he offered him fifty crowns.

‘Keep your recompense for yourself,’ replied the ratcatcher proudly.
‘If you do not pay me I will be paid by your heirs.’

Thereupon he pulled his hat down over his eyes, went hastily out of the
hall, and left the town without speaking to a soul.

When the Hamel people heard how the affair had ended they rubbed their
hands, and with no more scruple than their Town Counsellor, they
laughed over the ratcatcher, who, they said, was caught in his own
trap. But what made them laugh above all was his threat of getting
himself paid by their heirs. Ha! they wished that they only had such
creditors for the rest of their lives.

Next day, which was a Sunday, they all went gaily to church, thinking
that after Mass they would at last be able to eat some good thing that
the rats had not tasted before them.

They never suspected the terrible surprise that awaited them on their
return home. No children anywhere, they had all disappeared!

‘Our children! where are our poor children?’ was the cry that was soon
heard in all the streets.

Then through the east door of the town came three little boys, who
cried and wept, and this is what they told:

While the parents were at church a wonderful music had resounded. Soon
all the little boys and all the little girls that had been left at home
had gone out, attracted by the magic sounds, and had rushed to the
great market-place. There they found the ratcatcher playing his
bagpipes at the same spot as the evening before. Then the stranger had
begun to walk quickly, and they had followed, running, singing and
dancing to the sound of the music, as far as the foot of the mountain
which one sees on entering Hamel. At their approach the mountain had
opened a little, and the bagpiper had gone in with them, after which it
had closed again. Only the three little ones who told the adventure had
remained outside, as if by a miracle. One was bandy-legged and could
not run fast enough; the other, who had left the house in haste, one
foot shod the other bare, had hurt himself against a big stone and
could not walk without difficulty; the third had arrived in time, but
in harrying to go in with the others had struck so violently against
the wall of the mountain that he fell backwards at the moment it closed
upon his comrades.

At this story the parents redoubled their lamentations. They ran with
pikes and mattocks to the mountain, and searched till evening to find
the opening by which their children had disappeared, without being able
to find it. At last, the night falling, they returned desolate to
Hamel.

But the most unhappy of all was the Town Counsellor, for he lost three
little boys and two pretty little girls, and to crown all, the people
of Hamel overwhelmed him with reproaches, forgetting that the evening
before they had all agreed with him.

What had become of all these unfortunate children?

The parents always hoped they were not dead, and that the rat-catcher,
who certainly must have come out of the mountain, would have taken them
with him to his country. That is why for several years they sent in
search of them to different countries, but no one ever came on the
trace of the poor little ones.

It was not till much later that anything was to be heard of them.

About one hundred and fifty years after the event, when there was no
longer one left of the fathers, mothers, brothers or sisters of that
day, there arrived one evening in Hamel some merchants of Bremen
returning from the East, who asked to speak with the citizens. They
told that they, in crossing Hungary, had sojourned in a mountainous
country called Transylvania, where the inhabitants only spoke German,
while all around them nothing was spoken but Hungarian. These people
also declared that they came from Germany, but they did not know how
they chanced to be in this strange country. ‘Now,’ said the merchants
of Bremen, ‘these Germans cannot be other than the descendants of the
lost children of Hamel.’

The people of Hamel did not doubt it; and since that day they regard it
as certain that the Transylvanians of Hungary are their country folk,
whose ancestors, as children, were brought there by the ratcatcher.
There are more difficult things to believe than that.[16]

 [16] Ch. Marelles.




THE TRUE HISTORY OF LITTLE GOLDEN HOOD


You know the tale of poor Little Red Riding-hood, that the Wolf
deceived and devoured, with her cake, her little butter can, and her
Grandmother; well, the true story happened quite differently, as we
know now. And first of all the little girl was called and is still
called Little Golden-hood; secondly, it was not she, nor the good
grand-dame, but the wicked Wolf who was, in the end, caught and
devoured.

Only listen.

The story begins something like the tale.

There was once a little peasant girl, pretty and nice as a star in its
season. Her real name was Blanchette, but she was more often called
Little Golden-hood, on account of a wonderful little cloak with a hood,
gold- and fire-coloured, which she always had on. This little hood was
given her by her Grandmother, who was so old that she did not know her
age; it ought to bring her good luck, for it was made of a ray of
sunshine, she said. And as the good old woman was considered something
of a witch, everyone thought the little hood rather bewitched too.

And so it was, as you will see.

One day the mother said to the child: ‘Let us see, my little
Golden-hood, if you know now how to find your way by yourself. You
shall take this good piece of cake to your Grandmother for a Sunday
treat to-morrow. You will ask her how she is, and come back at once,
without stopping to chatter on the way with people you don’t know. Do
you quite understand?’

‘I quite understand,’ replied Blanchette gaily. And off she went with
the cake, quite proud of her errand.

But the Grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big wood
to cross before getting there. At a turn of the road under the trees,
suddenly ‘Who goes there?’

‘Friend Wolf.’

He had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to
devour her; when at the same moment he perceived some wood-cutters who
might observe him, and he changed his mind. Instead of falling upon
Blanchette he came frisking up to her like a good dog.

‘’Tis you! my nice Little Golden-hood,’ said he. So the little girl
stops to talk with the Wolf, who, for all that, she did not know in the
least.

‘You know me, then!’ said she; ‘what is your name?’

‘My name is friend Wolf. And where are you going thus, my pretty one,
with your little basket on your arm?’

‘I am going to my Grandmother, to take her a good piece of cake for her
Sunday treat to-morrow.’

‘And where does she live, your Grandmother?’

‘She lives at the other side of the wood, in the first house in the
village, near the windmill, you know.’

‘Ah! yes! I know now,’ said the Wolf. ‘Well, that’s just where I’m
going; I shall get there before you, no doubt, with your little bits of
legs, and I’ll tell her you’re coming to see her; then she’ll wait for
you.’

Thereupon the Wolf cuts across the wood, and in five minutes arrives at
the Grandmother’s house.

He knocks at the door: toc, toc.

No answer.

He knocks louder.

Nobody.

Then he stands up on end, puts his two fore-paws on the latch and the
door opens.

Not a soul in the house.

The old woman had risen early to sell herbs in the town, and she had
gone off in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her great
night-cap on the pillow.

‘Good!’ said the Wolf to himself, ‘I know what I’ll do.’

He shuts the door, pulls on the Grandmother’s night-cap down to his
eyes, then he lies down all his length in the bed and draws the
curtains.

In the meantime the good Blanchette went quietly on her way, as little
girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies,
watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the
butterflies which fluttered in the sunshine.

At last she arrives at the door.

Knock, knock.

‘Who is there?’ says the Wolf, softening his rough voice as best he
can.

‘It’s me, Granny, your little Golden-hood. I’m bringing you a big piece
of cake for your Sunday treat to-morrow.’

‘Press your finger on the latch, then push and the door opens.’

‘Why, you’ve got a cold, Granny,’ said she, coming in.

‘Ahem! a little, a little...’ replies the Wolf, pretending to cough.
‘Shut the door well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, and
then take off your frock and come and lie down by me: you shall rest a
little.’

The good child undresses, but observe this! She kept her little hood
upon her head. When she saw what a figure her Granny cut in bed, the
poor little thing was much surprised.

‘Oh!’ cries she, ‘how like you are to friend Wolf, Grandmother!’

‘That’s on account of my night-cap, child,’ replies the Wolf.

‘Oh! what hairy arms you’ve got, Grandmother!’

‘All the better to hug you, my child.’

‘Oh! what a big tongue you’ve got, Grandmother!’

‘All the better for answering, child.’

‘Oh! what a mouthful of great white teeth you have, Grandmother!’

‘That’s for crunching little children with!’ And the Wolf opened his
jaws wide to swallow Blanchette.

But she put down her head crying:

‘Mamma! Mamma!’ and the Wolf only caught her little hood.

Thereupon, oh dear! oh dear! he draws back, crying and shaking his jaw
as if he had swallowed red-hot coals.

It was the little fire-coloured hood that had burnt his tongue right
down his throat.

The little hood, you see, was one of those magic caps that they used to
have in former times, in the stories, for making oneself invisible or
invulnerable.

So there was the Wolf with his throat burnt, jumping off the bed and
trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the
country were at his heels.

Just at this moment the Grandmother arrives, returning from the town
with her long sack empty on her shoulder.

‘Ah, brigand!’ she cries, ‘wait a bit!’ Quickly she opens her sack wide
across the door, and the maddened Wolf springs in head downwards.

It is he now that is caught, swallowed like a letter in the post.

For the brave old dame shuts her sack, so; and she runs and empties it
in the well, where the vagabond, still howling, tumbles in and is
drowned.

‘Ah, scoundrel! you thought you would crunch my little grandchild!
Well, to-morrow we will make her a muff of your skin, and you yourself
shall be crunched, for we will give your carcass to the dogs.’

Thereupon the Grandmother hastened to dress poor Blanchette, who was
still trembling with fear in the bed.

‘Well,’ she said to her, ‘without my little hood where would you be
now, darling?’ And, to restore heart and legs to the child, she made
her eat a good piece of her cake, and drink a good draught of wine,
after which she took her by the hand and led her back to the house.

And then, who was it who scolded her when she knew all that had
happened?

It was the mother.

But Blanchette promised over and over again that she would never more
stop to listen to a Wolf, so that at last the mother forgave her.

And Blanchette, the Little Golden-hood, kept her word. And in fine
weather she may still be seen in the fields with her pretty little
hood, the colour of the sun.

But to see her you must rise early.[17]

 [17] Ch. Marelles.




THE GOLDEN BRANCH


Once upon a time there was a King who was so morose and disagreeable
that he was feared by all his subjects, and with good reason, as for
the most trifling offences he would have their heads cut off. This King
Grumpy, as he was called, had one son, who was as different from his
father as he could possibly be. No prince equalled him in cleverness
and kindness of heart, but unfortunately he was most terribly ugly. He
had crooked legs and squinting eyes, a large mouth all on one side, and
a hunchback. Never was there a beautiful soul in such a frightful
little body, but in spite of his appearance everybody loved him. The
Queen, his mother, called him Curlicue, because it was a name she
rather liked, and it seemed to suit him.

King Grumpy, who cared a great deal more for his own grandeur than for
his son’s happiness, wished to betroth the Prince to the daughter of a
neighbouring King, whose great estates joined his own, for he thought
that this alliance would make him more powerful than ever, and as for
the Princess she would do very well for Prince Curlicue, for she was as
ugly as himself. Indeed, though she was the most amiable creature in
the world, there was no concealing the fact that she was frightful, and
so lame that she always went about with a crutch, and people called her
Princess Cabbage-Stalk.

The King, having asked for and received a portrait of this Princess,
had it placed in his great hall under a canopy, and sent for Prince
Curlicue, to whom he said that as this was the portrait of his future
bride, he hoped the Prince found it charming.

The Prince after one glance at it turned away with a disdainful air,
which greatly offended his father.

‘Am I to understand that you are not pleased?’ he said very sharply.

‘No, sire,’ replied the Prince. ‘How could I be pleased to marry an
ugly, lame Princess?’

‘Certainly it is becoming in _you_ to object to that,’ said King
Grumpy, ‘since you are ugly enough to frighten anyone yourself.’

‘That is the very reason,’ said the Prince, ‘that I wish to marry
someone who is not ugly. I am quite tired enough of seeing myself.’

‘I tell you that you shall marry her,’ cried King Grumpy angrily.

And the Prince, seeing that it was of no use to remonstrate, bowed and
retired.

As King Grumpy was not used to being contradicted in anything, he was
very much displeased with his son, and ordered that he should be
imprisoned in the tower that was kept on purpose for rebellious
Princes, but had not been used for about two hundred years, because
there had not been any. The Prince thought all the rooms looked
strangely old-fashioned, with their antique furniture, but as there was
a good library he was pleased, for he was very fond of reading, and he
soon got permission to have as many books as he liked. But when he
looked at them he found that they were written in a forgotten language,
and he could not understand a single word, though he amused himself
with trying.

King Grumpy was so convinced that Prince Curlicue would soon get tired
of being in prison, and so consent to marry the Princess Cabbage-Stalk,
that he sent ambassadors to her father proposing that she should come
and be married to his son, who would make her perfectly happy.

The King was delighted to receive so good an offer for his unlucky
daughter, though, to tell the truth, he found it impossible to admire
the Prince’s portrait which had been sent to him. However, he had it
placed in as favourable a light as possible, and sent for the Princess,
but the moment she caught sight of it she looked the other way and
began to cry. The King, who was very much annoyed to see how greatly
she disliked it, took a mirror, and holding it up before the unhappy
Princess, said:

‘I see you do not think the Prince handsome, but look at yourself, and
see if you have any right to complain about that.’

‘Sire,’ she answered, ‘I do not wish to complain, only I beg of you do
not make me marry at all. I had rather be the unhappy Princess
Cabbage-Stalk all my life than inflict the sight of my ugliness on
anyone else.’

But the King would not listen to her, and sent her away with the
ambassadors.

In the meantime the Prince was kept safely locked up in his tower, and,
that he might be as dull as possible, King Grumpy ordered that no one
should speak to him, and that they should give him next to nothing to
eat. But all the Prince’s guards were so fond of him that they did
everything they dared, in spite of the King, to make the time pass
pleasantly.

One day, as the Prince was walking up and down the great gallery,
thinking how miserable it was to be so ugly, and to be forced to marry
an equally frightful Princess, he looked up suddenly and noticed that
the painted windows were particularly bright and beautiful, and for the
sake of doing something that would change his sad thoughts he began to
examine them attentively. He found that the pictures seemed to be
scenes from the life of a man who appeared in every window, and the
Prince, fancying that he saw in this man some resemblance to himself,
began to be deeply interested. In the first window there was a picture
of him in one of the turrets of the tower, farther on he was seeking
something in a chink in the wall, in the next picture he was opening an
old cabinet with a golden key, and so it went on through numbers of
scenes, and presently the Prince noticed that another figure occupied
the most important place in each scene, and this time it was a tall
handsome young man: poor Prince Curlicue found it a pleasure to look at
him, he was so straight and strong. By this time it had grown dark, and
the Prince had to go back to his own room, and to amuse himself he took
up a quaint old book and began to look at the pictures. But his
surprise was great to find that they represented the same scenes as the
windows of the gallery, and what was more, that they seemed to be
alive. In looking at pictures of musicians he saw their hands move and
heard sweet sounds; there was a picture of a ball, and the Prince could
watch the little dancing people come and go. He turned a page, and
there was an excellent smell of a savoury dinner, and one of the
figures who sat at the feast looked at him and said:

‘We drink your health, Curlicue. Try to give us our Queen again, for if
you do you will be rewarded; if not, it will be the worse for you.’

At these words the Prince, who had been growing more and more
astonished, was fairly terrified, and dropping the book with a crash he
sank back insensible. The noise he made brought his guards to his aid,
and as soon as he revived they asked him what was the matter. He
answered that he was so faint and giddy with hunger that he had
imagined he saw and heard all sorts of strange things. Thereupon, in
spite of the King’s orders, the guards gave him an excellent supper,
and when he had eaten it he again opened his book, but could see none
of the wonderful pictures, which convinced him that he must have been
dreaming before.

However, when he went into he gallery next day and looked at the
painted windows again, he found that they moved, and the figures came
and went as if they had been alive, and after watching the one who was
like himself find the key in the crack of the turret wall and open the
old cabinet, he determined to go and examine the place himself, and try
to find out what the mystery was. So he went up into the turret and
began to search about and tap upon the walls, and all at once he came
upon a place that sounded hollow. Taking a hammer he broke away a bit
of the stone, and found behind it a little golden key. The next thing
to do was to find the cabinet, and the Prince soon came to it, hidden
away in a dark corner, though indeed it was so old and battered-looking
that he would never have noticed it of his own accord. At first he
could not see any keyhole, but after a careful search he found one
hidden in the carving, and the golden key just fitted it; so the Prince
gave it a vigorous turn and the doors flew open.

Ugly and old as the cabinet was outside, nothing could have been more
rich and beautiful than what met the Prince’s astonished eyes. Every
drawer was made of crystal, of amber, or of some precious stone, and
was quite full of every kind of treasure. Prince Curlicue was
delighted; he opened one after another, until at last he came to one
tiny drawer which contained only an emerald key.

‘I believe that this must open that little golden door in the middle,’
said the Prince to himself. And he fitted in the little key and turned
it. The tiny door swung back, and a soft crimson light gleamed over the
whole cabinet. The Prince found that it proceeded from an immense
glowing carbuncle, made into a box, which lay before him. He lost no
time in opening it, but what was his horror when he found that it
contained a man’s hand, which was holding a portrait. His first thought
was to put back the terrible box and fly from the turret; but a voice
in his ear said, ‘This hand belonged to one whom you can help and
restore. Look at this beautiful portrait, the original of which was the
cause of all my misfortunes, and if you wish to help me, go without a
moment’s delay to the great gallery, notice where the sun’s rays fall
most brightly, and if you seek there you will find my treasure.’

The voice ceased, and though the Prince in his bewilderment asked
various questions, he received no answer. So he put back the box and
locked the cabinet up again, and, having replaced the key in the crack
in the wall, hastened down to the gallery.

When he entered it all the windows shook and clattered in the strangest
way, but the Prince did not heed them; he was looking so carefully for
the place where the sun shone most brightly, and it seemed to him that
it was upon the portrait of a most splendidly handsome young man.

He went up and examined it, and found that it rested against the ebony
and gold panelling, just like any of the other pictures in the gallery.
He was puzzled, not knowing what to do next, until it occurred to him
to see if the windows would help him, and, looking at the nearest, he
saw a picture of himself lifting the picture from the wall.

The Prince took the hint, and lifting aside the picture without
difficulty, found himself in a marble hall adorned with statues; from
this he passed on through numbers of splendid rooms, until at last he
reached one all hung with blue gauze. The walls were of turquoises, and
upon a low couch lay a lovely lady, who seemed to be asleep. Her hair,
black as ebony, was spread across the pillows, making her face look
ivory white, and the Prince noticed that she was unquiet; and when he
softly advanced, fearing to wake her, he could hear her sigh, and
murmur to herself:

‘Ah! how dared you think to win my love by separating me from my
beloved Florimond, and in my presence cutting off that dear hand that
even you should have feared and honoured?’

And then the tears rolled slowly down the lovely lady’s cheeks, and
Prince Curlicue began to comprehend that she was under an enchantment,
and that it was the hand of her lover that he had found.

At this moment a huge Eagle flew into the room, holding in its talons a
Golden Branch, upon which were growing what looked like clusters of
cherries, only every cherry was a single glowing ruby.

This he presented to the Prince, who guessed by this time that he was
in some way to break the enchantment that surrounded the sleeping lady.
Taking the branch he touched her lightly with it, saying:

‘Fair one, I know not by what enchantment thou art bound, but in the
name of thy beloved Florimond I conjure thee to come back to the life
which thou hast lost, but not forgotten.’

Instantly the lady opened her lustrous eyes, and saw the Eagle hovering
near.

‘Ah! stay, dear love, stay,’ she cried. But the Eagle, uttering a
dolorous cry, fluttered his broad wings and disappeared. Then the lady
turned to Prince Curlicue, and said:

‘I know that it is to you I owe my deliverance from an enchantment
which has held me for two hundred years. If there is anything that I
can do for you in return, you have only to tell me, and all my fairy
power shall be used to make you happy.’

‘Madam,’ said Prince Curlicue, ‘I wish to be allowed to restore your
beloved Florimond to his natural form, since I cannot forget the tears
you shed for him.’

‘That is very amiable of you, dear Prince,’ said the Fairy, ‘but it is
reserved for another person to do that. I cannot explain more at
present. But is there nothing you wish for yourself?’

‘Madam,’ cried the Prince, flinging himself down at her feet, ‘only
look at my ugliness. I am called Curlicue, and am an object of
derision; I entreat you to make me less ridiculous.’

‘Rise, Prince,’ said the Fairy, touching him with the Golden Branch.
‘Be as accomplished as you are handsome, and take the name of Prince
Peerless, since that is the only title which will suit you now.’

Silent from joy, the Prince kissed her hand to express his thanks, and
when he rose and saw his new reflection in the mirrors which surrounded
him, he understood that Curlicue was indeed gone for ever.

‘How I wish,’ said the Fairy, ‘that I dared to tell you what is in
store for you, and warn you of the traps which lie in your path, but I
must not. Fly from the tower, Prince, and remember that the Fairy
Douceline will be your friend always.’

When she had finished speaking, the Prince, to his great astonishment,
found himself no longer in the tower, but set down in a thick forest at
least a hundred leagues away from it. And there we must leave him for
the present, and see what was happening elsewhere.

When the guards found that the Prince did not ask for his supper as
usual, they went into his room, and not finding him there, were very
much alarmed, and searched the tower from turret to dungeon, but
without success. Knowing that the King would certainly have their heads
cut off for allowing the Prince to escape, they then agreed to say that
he was ill, and after making the smallest among them look as much like
Prince Curlicue as possible, they put him into his bed and sent to
inform the King.

King Grumpy was quite delighted to hear that his son was ill, for he
thought that he would all the sooner be brought to do as he wished, and
marry the Princess. So he sent back to the guards to say that the
Prince was to be treated as severely as before, which was just what
they had hoped he would say. In the meantime the Princess Cabbage-Stalk
had reached the palace, travelling in a litter.

King Grumpy went out to meet her, but when he saw her, with a skin like
a tortoise’s, her thick eyebrows meeting above her large nose, and her
mouth from ear to ear, he could not help crying out:

‘Well, I must say Curlicue is ugly enough, but I don’t think _you_ need
have thought twice before consenting to marry him.’

‘Sire,’ she replied, ‘I know too well what I am like to be hurt by what
you say, but I assure you that I have no wish to marry your son I had
rather be called Princess Cabbage-Stalk than Queen Curlicue.’

This made King Grumpy very angry.

‘Your father has sent you here to marry my son,’ he said, ‘and you may
be sure that I am not going to offend him by altering his
arrangements.’ So the poor Princess was sent away in disgrace to her
own apartments, and the ladies who attended upon her were charged to
bring her to a better mind.

At this juncture the guards, who were in great fear that they would be
found out, sent to tell the King that his son was dead, which annoyed
him very much. He at once made up his mind that it was entirely the
Princess’s fault, and gave orders that she should be imprisoned in the
tower in Prince Curlicue’s place. The Princess Cabbage-Stalk was
immensely astonished at this unjust proceeding, and sent many messages
of remonstrance to King Grumpy, but he was in such a temper that no one
dared to deliver them, or to send the letters which the Princess wrote
to her father. However, as she did not know this, she lived in hope of
soon going back to her own country, and tried to amuse herself as well
as she could until the time should come. Every day she walked up and
down the long gallery, until she too was attracted and fascinated by
the ever-changing pictures in the windows, and recognised herself in
one of the figures. ‘They seem to have taken a great delight in
painting me since I came to this country,’ she said to herself. ‘One
would think that I and my crutch were put in on purpose to make that
slim, charming young shepherdess in the next picture look prettier by
contrast. Ah! how nice it would be to be as pretty as that.’ And then
she looked at herself in a mirror, and turned away quickly with tears
in her eyes from the doleful sight. All at once she became aware that
she was not alone, for behind her stood a tiny old woman in a cap, who
was as ugly again as herself and quite as lame.

‘Princess,’ she said, ‘your regrets are so piteous that I have come to
offer you the choice of goodness or beauty. If you wish to be pretty
you shall have your way, but you will also be vain, capricious, and
frivolous. If you remain as you are now, you shall be wise and amiable
and modest.’

‘Alas I madam,’ cried the Princess, ‘is it impossible to be at once
wise and beautiful?’

‘No, child,’ answered the old woman, ‘only to you it is decreed that
you must choose between the two. See, I have brought with me my white
and yellow muff. Breathe upon the yellow side and you will become like
the pretty shepherdess you so much admire, and you will have won the
love of the handsome shepherd whose picture I have already seen you
studying with interest. Breathe upon the white side and your looks will
not alter, but you will grow better and happier day by day. Now you may
choose.’

‘Ah well,’ said the Princess, ‘I suppose one can’t have everything, and
it’s certainly better to be good than pretty.’

And so she breathed upon the white side of the muff and thanked the old
fairy, who immediately disappeared. The Princess Cabbage-Stalk felt
very forlorn when she was gone, and began to think that it was quite
time her father sent an army to rescue her.

‘If I could but get up into the turret,’ she thought, ‘to see if any
one is coming.’ But to climb up there seemed impossible. Nevertheless
she presently hit upon a plan. The great clock was in the turret, as
she knew, though the weights hung down into the gallery. Taking one of
them off the rope, she tied herself on in its place, and when the clock
was wound, up she went triumphantly into the turret. She looked out
over the country the first thing, but seeing nothing she sat down to
rest a little, and accidentally leant back against the wall which
Curlicue, or rather Prince Peerless, had so hastily mended. Out fell
the broken stone, and with it the golden key. The clatter it made upon
the floor attracted the Princess Cabbage-Stalk’s attention.

She picked it up, and after a moment’s consideration decided that it
must belong to the curious old cabinet in the corner, which had no
visible keyhole. And then it was not long before she had it open, and
was admiring the treasures it contained as much as Prince Peerless had
done before her, and at last she came to the carbuncle box. No sooner
had she opened it than with a shudder of horror she tried to throw it
down, but found that some mysterious power compelled her to hold it
against her will. And at this moment a voice in her ear said softly:

‘Take courage, Princess; upon this adventure your future happiness
depends.’

‘What am I to do?’ said the Princess trembling.

‘Take the box,’ replied the voice, ‘and hide it under your pillow, and
when you see an Eagle, give it to him without losing a moment.’

Terrified as the Princess was, she did not hesitate to obey, and
hastened to put back all the other precious things precisely as she had
found them. By this time her guards were seeking her everywhere, and
they were amazed to find her up in the turret, for they said she could
only have got there by magic. For three days nothing happened, but at
last in the night the Princess heard something flutter against her
window, and drawing back her curtains she saw in the moonlight that it
was an Eagle.

Limping across at her utmost speed she threw the window open, and the
great Eagle sailed in beating with his wings for joy. The Princess lost
no time in offering it the carbuncle box, which it grasped in its
talons, and instantly disappeared, leaving in its place the most
beautiful Prince she had ever seen, who was splendidly dressed, and
wore a diamond crown.

‘Princess,’ said he, ‘for two hundred years has a wicked enchanter kept
me here. We both loved the same Fairy, but she preferred me. However,
he was more powerful than I, and succeeded, when for a moment I was off
my guard, in changing me into an Eagle, while my Queen was left in an
enchanted sleep. I knew that after two hundred years a Prince would
recall her to the light of day, and a Princess, in restoring to me the
hand which my enemy had cut off, would give me back my natural form.
The Fairy who watches over your destiny told me this, and it was she
who guided you to the cabinet in the turret, where she had placed my
hand. It is she also who permits me to show my gratitude to you by
granting whatever favour you may ask of me. Tell me, Princess, what is
it that you wish for most? Shall I make you as beautiful as you deserve
to be?’

‘Ah, if you only would!’ cried the Princess, and at the same moment she
heard a crick-cracking in all her bones. She grew tall and straight and
pretty, with eyes like shining stars, and a skin as white as milk.

‘Oh, wonderful! can this really be my poor little self?’ she exclaimed,
looking down in amazement at her tiny worn-out crutch as it lay upon
the floor.

‘Indeed, Princess,’ replied Florimond, ‘it is yourself, but you must
have a new name, since the old one does not suit you now. Be called
Princess Sunbeam, for you are bright and charming enough to deserve the
name.’

And so saying he disappeared, and the Princess, without knowing how she
got there, found herself walking under shady trees by a clear river. Of
course, the first thing she did was to look at her own reflection in
the water, and she was extremely surprised to find that she was exactly
like the shepherdess she had so much admired, and wore the same white
dress and flowery wreath that she had seen in the painted windows. To
complete the resemblance, her flock of sheep appeared, grazing round
her, and she found a gay crook adorned with flowers upon the bank of
the river. Quite tired out by so many new and wonderful experiences,
the Princess sat down to rest at the foot of a tree, and there she fell
fast asleep. Now it happened that it was in this very country that
Prince Peerless had been set down, and while the Princess Sunbeam was
still sleeping peacefully, he came strolling along in search of a shady
pasture for his sheep.

The moment he caught sight of the Princess he recognised her as the
charming shepherdess whose picture he had seen so often in the tower,
and as she was far prettier than he had remembered her, he was
delighted that chance had led him that way.

He was still watching her admiringly when the Princess opened her eyes,
and as she also recognised him they were soon great friends. The
Princess asked Prince Peerless, as he knew the country better than she
did, to tell her of some peasant who would give her a lodging, and he
said he knew of an old woman whose cottage would be the very place for
her, it was so nice and so pretty. So they went there together, and the
Princess was charmed with the old woman and everything belonging to
her. Supper was soon spread for her under a shady tree, and she invited
the Prince to share the cream and brown bread which the old woman
provided. This he was delighted to do, and having first fetched from
his own garden all the strawberries, cherries, nuts and flowers he
could find. they sat down together and were very merry. After this they
met every day as they guarded their flocks, and were so happy that
Prince Peerless begged the Princess to marry him, so that they might
never be parted again. Now though the Princess Sunbeam appeared to be
only a poor shepherdess, she never forgot that she was a real Princess,
and she was not at all sure that she ought to marry a humble shepherd,
though she knew she would like to do so very much.

So she resolved to consult an Enchanter of whom she had heard a great
deal since she had been a shepherdess, and without saying a word to
anybody she set out to find the castle in which he lived with his
sister, who was a powerful Fairy. The way was long, and lay through a
thick wood, where the Princess heard strange voices calling to her from
every side, but she was in such a hurry that she stopped for nothing,
and at last she came to the courtyard of the Enchanter’s castle.

The grass and briers were growing as high as if it were a hundred years
since anyone had set foot there, but the Princess got through at last,
though she gave herself a good many scratches by the way, and then she
went into a dark, gloomy hall, where there was but one tiny hole in the
wall through which the daylight could enter. The hangings were all of
bats’ wings, and from the ceiling hung twelve cats, who filled the hall
with their ear piercing yells. Upon the long table twelve mice were
fastened by the tail, and just in front of each one’s nose, but quite
beyond its reach, lay a tempting morsel of fat bacon. So the cats could
always see the mice, but could not touch them, and the hungry mice were
tormented by the sight and smell of the delicious morsels which they
could never seize.

The Princess was looking at the poor creatures in dismay, when the
Enchanter suddenly entered, wearing a long black robe and with a
crocodile upon his head. In his hand he carried a whip made of twenty
long snakes, all alive and writhing, and the Princess was so terrified
at the sight that she heartily wished she had never come. Without
saying a word she ran to the door, but it was covered with a thick
spider’s web, and when she broke it she found another, and another, and
another. In fact, there was no end to them; the Princess’s arms ached
with tearing them down, and yet she was no nearer to getting out, and
the wicked Enchanter behind her laughed maliciously. At last he said:

‘You might spend the rest of your life over that without doing any
good, but as you are young, and quite the prettiest creature I have
seen for a long time, I will marry you if you like, and I will give you
those cats and mice that you see there for your own. They are princes
and princesses who have happened to offend me. They used to love one
another as much as they now hate one another. Aha! It’s a pretty little
revenge to keep them like that.’

‘Oh! If you would only change me into a mouse too,’ cried the Princess.

‘Oh! so you won’t marry me?’ said he. ‘Little simpleton, you should
have everything heart can desire.’

‘No, indeed; nothing should make me marry you; in fact, I don’t think I
shall ever love anyone,’ cried the Princess.

‘In that case,’ said the Enchanter, touching her, ‘you had better
become a particular kind of creature that is neither fish nor fowl; you
shall be light and airy, and as green as the grass you live in. Off
with you, Madam Grasshopper.’ And the Princess, rejoicing to find
herself free once more, skipped out into the garden, the prettiest
little green Grasshopper in the world. But as soon as she was safely
out she began to be rather sorry for herself.

‘Ah! Florimond,’ she sighed, ‘is this the end of your gift? Certainly
beauty is short-lived, and this funny little face and a green crape
dress are a comical end to it. I had better have married my amiable
shepherd. It must be for my pride that I am condemned to be a
Grasshopper, and sing day and night in the grass by this brook, when I
feel far more inclined to cry.’

In the meantime Prince Peerless had discovered the Princess’s absence,
and was lamenting over it by the river’s brim, when he suddenly became
aware of the presence of a little old woman. She was quaintly dressed
in a ruff and farthingale, and a velvet hood covered her snow-white
hair.

‘You seem sorrowful, my son,’ she said. ‘What is the matter?’

‘Alas! mother,’ answered the Prince, ‘I have lost my sweet shepherdess,
but I am determined to find her again, though I should have to traverse
the whole world in search of her.’

‘Go that way, my son,’ said the old woman, pointing towards the path
that led to the castle. ‘I have an idea that you will soon overtake
her.’

The Prince thanked her heartily and set out. As he met with no
hindrance, he soon reached the enchanted wood which surrounded the
castle, and there he thought he saw the Princess Sunbeam gliding before
him among the trees. Prince Peerless hastened after her at the top of
his speed, but could not get any nearer; then he called to her:

‘Sunbeam, my darling—only wait for me a moment.’

But the phantom did but fly the faster, and the Prince spent the whole
day in this vain pursuit. When night came he saw the castle before him
all lighted up, and as he imagined that the Princess must be in it, he
made haste to get there too. He entered without difficulty, and in the
hall the terrible old Fairy met him. She was so thin that the light
shone through her, and her eyes glowed like lamps; her skin was like a
shark’s, her arms were thin as laths, and her fingers like spindles.
Nevertheless she wore rouge and patches, a mantle of silver brocade and
a crown of diamonds, and her dress was covered with jewels, and green
and pink ribbons.

‘At last you have come to see me, Prince,’ said she. ‘Don’t waste
another thought upon that little shepherdess, who is unworthy of your
notice. I am the Queen of the Comets, and can bring you to great honour
if you will marry me.’

‘Marry you, Madam,’ cried the Prince, in horror. ‘No, I will never
consent to that.’

Thereupon the Fairy, in a rage, gave two strokes of her wand and filled
the gallery with horrible goblins, against whom the Prince had to fight
for his life. Though he had only his dagger, he defended himself so
well that he escaped without any harm, and presently the old Fairy
stopped the fray and asked the Prince if he was still of the same mind.
When he answered firmly that he was, she called up the appearance of
the Princess Sunbeam to the other end of the gallery, and said:

‘You see your beloved there? Take care what you are about, for if you
again refuse to marry me she shall be torn in pieces by two tigers.’

The Prince was distracted, for he fancied he heard his dear shepherdess
weeping and begging him to save her. In despair he cried:

‘Oh, Fairy Douceline, have you abandoned me after so many promises of
friendship? Help, help us now!’

Immediately a soft voice said in his ear:

‘Be firm, happen what may, and seek the Golden Branch.’

Thus encouraged, the Prince persevered in his refusal, and at length
the old Fairy in a fury cried:

‘Get out of my sight, obstinate Prince. Become a Cricket!’

And instantly the handsome Prince Peerless became a poor little black
Cricket, whose only idea would have been to find himself a cosy cranny
behind some blazing hearth, if he had not luckily remembered the Fairy
Douceline’s injunction to seek the Golden Branch.

So he hastened to depart from the fatal castle, and sought shelter in a
hollow tree, where he found a forlorn looking little Grasshopper
crouching in a corner, too miserable to sing.

Without in the least expecting an answer, the Prince asked it:

‘And where may you be going, Gammer Grasshopper?’

‘Where are you going yourself, Gaffer Cricket?’ replied the
Grasshopper.

‘What! can you speak?’ said he.

‘Why should I not speak as well as you? Isn’t a Grasshopper as good as
a Cricket?’ said she.

‘I can talk because I was a Prince,’ said the Cricket.

‘And for that very same reason I ought to be able to talk more than
you, for I was a Princess,’ replied the Grasshopper.

‘Then you have met with the same fate as I have,’ said he. ‘But where
are you going now? Cannot we journey together?’

‘I seemed to hear a voice in the air which said: “Be firm, happen what
may, and seek the Golden Branch,”’ answered the Grasshopper, ‘and I
thought the command must be for me, so I started at once, though I
don’t know the way.’

At this moment their conversation was interrupted by two mice, who,
breathless from running, flung themselves headlong through the hole
into the tree, nearly crushing the Grasshopper and the Cricket, though
they got out of the way as fast as they could and stood up in a dark
corner.

‘Ah, Madam,’ said the fatter of the two, ‘I have such a pain in my side
from running so fast. How does your Highness find yourself?’

‘I have pulled my tail off,’ replied the younger Mouse, ‘but as I
should still be on the sorcerer’s table unless I had, I do not regret
it. Are we pursued, think you? How lucky we were to escape!’

‘I only trust that we may escape cats and traps, and reach the Golden
Branch soon,’ said the fat Mouse.

‘You know the way then?’ said the other.

‘Oh dear, yes! as well as the way to my own house, Madam. This Golden
Branch is indeed a marvel, a single leaf from it makes one rich for
ever. It breaks enchantments, and makes all who approach it young and
beautiful. We must set out for it at the break of day.’

‘May we have the honour of travelling with you—this respectable Cricket
and myself?’ said the Grasshopper, stepping forward. ‘We also are on a
pilgrimage to the Golden Branch.’

The Mice courteously assented, and after many polite speeches the whole
party fell asleep. With the earliest dawn they were on their way, and
though the Mice were in constant fear of being overtaken or trapped,
they reached the Golden Branch in safety.

It grew in the midst of a wonderful garden, all the paths of which were
strewn with pearls as big as peas. The roses were crimson diamonds,
with emerald leaves. The pomegranates were garnets, the marigolds
topazes, the daffodils yellow diamonds, the violets sapphires, the
corn-flowers turquoises, the tulips amethysts, opals and diamonds, so
that the garden borders blazed like the sun. The Golden Branch itself
had become as tall as a forest tree, and sparkled with ruby cherries to
its topmost twig. No sooner had the Grasshopper and the Cricket touched
it than they were restored to their natural forms, and their surprise
and joy were great when they recognised each other. At this moment
Florimond and the Fairy Douceline appeared in great splendour, and the
Fairy, as she descended from her chariot, said with a smile:

‘So you two have found one another again, I see, but I have still a
surprise left for you. Don’t hesitate, Princess, to tell your devoted
shepherd how dearly you love him, as he is the very Prince your father
sent you to marry. So come here both of you and let me crown you, and
we will have the wedding at once.’

The Prince and Princess thanked her with all their hearts, and declared
that to her they owed all their happiness, and then the two Princesses,
who had so lately been Mice, came and begged that the Fairy would use
her power to release their unhappy friends who were still under the
Enchanter’s spell.

‘Really,’ said the Fairy Douceline, ‘on this happy occasion I cannot
find it in my heart to refuse you anything.’ And she gave three strokes
of her wand upon the Golden Branch, and immediately all the prisoners
in the Enchanter’s castle found themselves free, and came with all
speed to the wonderful garden, where one touch of the Golden Branch
restored each one to his natural form, and they greeted one another
with many rejoicings. To complete her generous work the Fairy presented
them with the wonderful cabinet and all the treasures it contained,
which were worth at least ten kingdoms. But to Prince Peerless and the
Princess Sunbeam she gave the palace and garden of the Golden Branch,
where, immensely rich and greatly beloved by all their subjects, they
lived happily ever after.[18]

 [18] _Le Rameau d’Or_. Par Madame d’Aulnoy.




THE THREE DWARFS


There was once upon a time a man who lost his wife, and a woman who
lost her husband; and the man had a daughter and so had the woman. The
two girls were great friends and used often to play together. One day
the woman turned to the man’s daughter and said:

‘Go and tell your father that I will marry him, and then you shall wash
in milk and drink wine, but my own daughter shall wash in water and
drink it too.’

The girl went straight home and told her father what the woman had
said.

‘What am I to do?’ he answered. ‘Marriage is either a success or it is
a failure.’

At last, being of an undecided character and not being able to make up
his mind, he took off his boot, and handing it to his daughter, said:

‘Take this boot which has a hole in the sole, hang it up on a nail in
the hayloft, and pour water into it. If it holds water I will marry
again, but if it doesn’t I won’t.’ The girl did as she was bid, but the
water drew the hole together and the boot filled up to the very top. So
she went and told her father the result. He got up and went to see for
himself, and when he saw that it was true and no mistake, he accepted
his fate, proposed to the widow, and they were married at once.

On the morning after the wedding, when the two girls awoke, milk was
standing for the man’s daughter to wash in and wine for her to drink;
but for the woman’s daughter, only water to wash in and only water to
drink. On the second morning, water to wash in and water to drink was
standing for the man’s daughter as well. And on the third morning,
water to wash in and water to drink was standing for the man’s
daughter, and milk to wash in and wine to drink for the woman’s
daughter; and so it continued ever after. The woman hated her
stepdaughter from the bottom of her heart, and did all she could to
make her life miserable. She was as jealous as she could possibly be,
because the girl was so beautiful and charming, while her own daughter
was both ugly and repulsive.

One winter’s day when there was a hard frost, and mountain and valley
were covered with snow, the woman made a dress of paper, and calling
the girl to her said:

‘There, put on this dress and go out into the wood and fetch me a
basket of strawberries!’

‘Now Heaven help us,’ replied her stepdaughter; ‘strawberries don’t
grow in winter; the earth is all frozen and the snow has covered up
everything; and why send me in a paper dress? it is so cold outside
that one’s very breath freezes; the wind will whistle through my dress,
and the brambles tear it from my body.’

‘How dare you contradict me!’ said her stepmother; ‘be off with you at
once, and don’t show your face again till you have filled the basket
with strawberries.’

Then she gave her a hard crust of bread, saying:

‘That will be enough for you to-day,’ and she thought to herself: ‘The
girl will certainly perish of hunger and cold outside, and I shan’t be
bothered with her any more.’

The girl was so obedient that she put on the paper dress and set out
with her little basket. There was nothing but snow far and near, and
not a green blade of grass to be seen anywhere. When she came to the
wood she saw a little house, and out of it peeped three little dwarfs.
She wished them good-day, and knocked modestly at the door. They called
out to her to enter, so she stepped in and sat down on a seat by the
fire, wishing to warm herself and eat her breakfast. The Dwarfs said at
once: ‘Give us some of your food!’

‘Gladly,’ she said, and breaking her crust in two, she gave them the
half.

Then they asked her what she was doing in the depths of winter in her
thin dress.

‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘I have been sent to get a basketful of
strawberries, and I daren’t show my face again at home till I bring
them with me.’

When she had finished her bread they gave her a broom and told her to
sweep away the snow from the back door. As soon as she left the room to
do so, the three little men consulted what they should give her as a
reward for being so sweet and good, and for sharing her last crust with
them.

The first said: ‘Every day she shall grow prettier.’

The second: ‘Every time she opens her mouth a piece of gold shall fall
out.’

And the third: ‘A King shall come and marry her.’

The girl in the meantime was doing as the Dwarfs had bidden her, and
was sweeping the snow away from the back door, and what do you think
she found there?—heaps of fine ripe strawberries that showed out dark
red against the white snow. She joyfully picked enough to fill her
basket, thanked the little men for their kindness, shook hands with
them, and ran home to bring her stepmother what she had asked for. When
she walked in and said; Good evening,’ a piece of gold fell out of her
mouth. Then she told what had happened to her in the wood, and at every
word pieces of gold dropped from her mouth, so that the room was soon
covered with them.

‘She’s surely more money than wit to throw gold about like that,’ said
her stepsister, but in her secret heart she was very jealous, and
determined that she too would go to the wood and look for strawberries.
But her mother refused to let her go, saying:

‘My dear child, it is far too cold; you might freeze to death.’

The girl however left her no peace, so she was forced at last to give
in, but she insisted on her putting on a beautiful fur cloak, and she
gave her bread and butter and cakes to eat on the way.

The girl went straight to the little house in the wood, and as before
the three little men were looking out of the window. She took no notice
of them, and without as much as ‘By your leave,’ or ‘With your leave,’
she flounced into the room, sat herself down at the fire, and began to
eat her bread and butter and cakes.

‘Give us some,’ cried the Dwarfs.

But she answered: ‘No, I won’t, it’s hardly enough for myself; so catch
me giving you any.’

When she had finished eating they said:

‘There’s a broom for you, go and clear up our back door.’

‘I’ll see myself further,’ she answered rudely. ‘Do it yourselves; I’m
not your servant.’

When she saw that they did not mean to give her anything, she left the
house in no amiable frame of mind. Then the three little men consulted
what they should do to her, because she was so bad and had such an
evil, covetous heart, that she grudged everybody their good fortune.

The first said: ‘She shall grow uglier every day.’

The second: ‘Every time she speaks a toad shall jump out of her mouth.’

And the third: ‘She shall die a most miserable death.’

The girl searched for strawberries, but she found none, and returned
home in a very bad temper. When she opened her mouth to tell her mother
what had befallen her in the wood, a toad jumped out, so that everyone
was quite disgusted with her.

Then the stepmother was more furious than ever, and did nothing but
plot mischief against the man’s daughter, who was daily growing more
and more beautiful. At last, one day the wicked woman took a large pot,
put it on the fire and boiled some yarn in it. When it was well scalded
she hung it round the poor girl’s shoulder, and giving her an axe, she
bade her break a hole in the frozen river, and rinse the yarn in it.
Her stepdaughter obeyed as usual, and went and broke a hole in the ice.
When she was in the act of wringing out the yarn a magnificent carriage
passed, and the King sat inside. The carriage stood still, and the King
asked her:

‘My child, who are you, and what in the wide world are you doing here?’

‘I am only a poor girl,’ she answered, ‘and am rinsing out my yarn in
the river.’ Then the King was sorry for her, and when he saw how
beautiful she was he said:

‘Will you come away with me?’

‘Most gladly,’ she replied, for she knew how willingly she would leave
her stepmother and sister, and how glad they would be to be rid of her.

So she stepped into the carriage and drove away with the King, and when
they reached his palace the wedding was celebrated with much splendour.
So all turned out just as the three little Dwarfs had said. After a
year the Queen gave birth to a little son. When her stepmother heard of
her good fortune she came to the palace with her daughter by way of
paying a call, and took up her abode there. Now one day, when the King
was out and nobody else near, the bad woman took the Queen by her head,
and the daughter took her by her heels, and they dragged her from her
bed, and flung her out of the window into the stream which flowed
beneath it. Then the stepmother laid her ugly daughter in the Queen’s
place, and covered her up with the clothes, so that nothing of her was
seen. When the King came home and wished to speak to his wife the woman
called out:

‘Quietly, quietly! this will never do; your wife is very ill, you must
let her rest all to-day.’ The King suspected no evil, and didn’t come
again till next morning. When he spoke to his wife and she answered
him, instead of the usual piece of gold a toad jumped out of her mouth.
Then he asked what it meant, and the old woman told him it was nothing
but weakness, and that she would soon be all right again.

But that same evening the scullion noticed a duck swimming up the
gutter, saying as it passed:

‘What does the King, I pray you tell,
Is he awake or sleeps he well?’


and receiving no reply, it continued:

‘And all my guests, are they asleep?’


and the Scullion answered:

‘Yes, one and all they slumber deep.’


Then the Duck went on:

‘And what about my baby dear?’


and he answered:

‘Oh, it sleeps soundly, never fear.’


Then the Duck assumed the Queen’s shape, went up to the child’s room,
tucked him up comfortably in his cradle, and then swam back down the
gutter again, in the likeness of a Duck. This was repeated for two
nights, and on the third the Duck said to the Scullion:

‘Go and tell the King to swing his sword three times over me on the
threshold.’

The Scullion did as the creature bade him, and the King came with his
sword and swung it three times over the bird, and lo and behold! his
wife stood before him once more, alive, and as blooming as ever.

The King rejoiced greatly, but he kept the Queen in hiding till the
Sunday on which the child was to be christened. After the christening
he said:

‘What punishment does that person deserve who drags another out of bed,
and throws him or her, as the case may be, into the water?’

Then the wicked old stepmother answered:

‘No better fate than to be put into a barrel lined with sharp nails,
and to be rolled in it down the hill into the water.’

‘You have pronounced your own doom,’ said the King; and he ordered a
barrel to be made lined with sharp nails, and in it he put the bad old
woman and her daughter. Then it was fastened down securely, and the
barrel was rolled down the hill till it fell into the river.[19]

 [19] Grimm.




DAPPLEGRIM


There was once upon a time a couple of rich folks who had twelve sons,
and when the youngest was grown up he would not stay at home any
longer, but would go out into the world and seek his fortune. His
father and mother said that they thought he was very well off at home,
and that he was welcome to stay with them; but he could not rest, and
said that he must and would go, so at last they had to give him leave.
When he had walked a long way, he came to a King’s palace. There he
asked for a place and got it.

Now the daughter of the King of that country had been carried off into
the mountains by a Troll, and the King had no other children, and for
this cause both he and all his people were full of sorrow and
affliction, and the King had promised the Princess and half his kingdom
to anyone who could set her free; but there was no one who could do it,
though a great number had tried. So when the youth had been there for
the space of a year or so, he wanted to go home again to pay his
parents a visit; but when he got there his father and mother were dead,
and his brothers had divided everything that their parents possessed
between themselves, so that there was nothing at all left for him.

‘Shall I, then, receive nothing at all of my inheritance?’ asked the
youth.

‘Who could know that you were still alive—you who have been a wanderer
so long?’ answered the brothers. ‘However, there are twelve mares upon
the hills which we have not yet divided among us, and if you would like
to have them for your share, you may take them.’

So the youth, well pleased with this, thanked them, and at once set off
to the hill where the twelve mares were at pasture. When he got up
there and found them, each mare had her foal, and by the side of one of
them was a big dapple-grey foal as well, which was so sleek that it
shone again.

‘Well, my little foal, you are a fine fellow!’ said the youth.

‘Yes, but if you will kill all the other little foals so that I can
suck all the mares for a year, you shall see how big and handsome I
shall be then!’ said the Foal.

So the youth did this—he killed all the twelve foals, and then went
back again.

Next year, when he came home again to look after his mares and the
foal, it was as fat as it could be, and its coat shone with brightness,
and it was so big that the lad had the greatest difficulty in getting
on its back, and each of the mares had another foal.

‘Well, it’s very evident that I have lost nothing by letting you suck
all my mares,’ said the lad to the yearling; ‘but now you are quite big
enough, and must come away with me.’

‘No,’ said the Colt, ‘I must stay here another year; kill the twelve
little foals, and then I can suck all the mares this year also, and you
shall see how big and handsome I shall be by summer.’

So the youth did it again, and when he went up on the hill next year to
look after his colt and the mares, each of the mares had her foal
again; but the dappled colt was so big that when the lad wanted to feel
its neck to see how fat it was, he could not reach up to it, it was so
high, and it was so bright that the light glanced off its coat.

‘Big and handsome you were last year, my colt, but this year you are
ever so much handsomer,’ said the youth; ‘in all the King’s court no
such horse is to be found. But now you shall come away with me.’

‘No,’ said the dappled Colt once more; ‘here I must stay for another
year. Just kill the twelve little foals again, so that I can suck the
mares this year also, and then come and look at me in the summer.’

So the youth did it—he killed all the little foals, and then went home
again.

But next year, when he returned to look after the dappled colt and the
mares, he was quite appalled. He had never imagined that any horse
could become so big and overgrown, for the dappled horse had to lie
down on all fours before the youth could get on his back, and it was
very hard to do that even when it was lying down, and it was so plump
that its coat shone and glistened just as if it had been a
looking-glass. This time the dappled horse was not unwilling to go away
with the youth, so he mounted it, and when he came riding home to his
brothers they all smote their hands together and crossed themselves,
for never in their lives had they either seen or heard tell of such a
horse as that.

‘If you will procure me the best shoes for my horse, and the most
magnificent saddle and bridle that can be found,’ said the youth, ‘you
may have all my twelve mares just as they are standing out on the hill,
and their twelve foals into the bargain.’ For this year also each mare
had her foal. The brothers were quite willing to do this; so the lad
got such shoes for his horse that the sticks and stones flew high up
into the air as he rode away over the hills, and such a gold saddle and
such a gold bridle that they could be seen glittering and glancing from
afar.

‘And now we will go to the King’s palace,’ said Dapplegrim—that was the
horse’s name, ‘but bear in mind that you must ask the King for a good
stable and excellent fodder for me.’

So the lad promised not to forget to do that. He rode to the palace,
and it will be easily understood that with such a horse as he had he
was not long on the way.

When he arrived there, the King was standing out on the steps, and how
he did stare at the man who came riding up!

‘Nay,’ said he, ‘never in my whole life have I seen such a man and such
a horse.’

And when the youth inquired if he could have a place in the King’s
palace, the King was so delighted that he could have danced on the
steps where he was standing, and there and then the lad was told that
he should have a place.

‘Yes; but I must have a good stable and most excellent fodder for my
horse,’ said he.

So they told him that he should have sweet hay and oats, and as much of
them as the dappled horse chose to have, and all the other riders had
to take their horses out of the stable that Dapplegrim might stand
alone and really have plenty of room.

But this did not last long, for the other people in the King’s Court
became envious of the lad, and there was no bad thing that they would
not have done to him if they had but dared. At last they bethought
themselves of telling the King that the youth had said that, if he
chose, he was quite able to rescue the Princess who had been carried
off into the mountain a long time ago by the Troll.

The King immediately summoned the lad into his presence, and said that
he had been informed that he had said that it was in his power to
rescue the Princess, so he was now to do it. If he succeeded in this,
he no doubt knew that the King had promised his daughter and half the
kingdom to anyone who set her free, which promise should be faithfully
and honourably kept, but if he failed he should be put to death. The
youth denied that he had said this, but all to no purpose, for the King
was deaf to all his words; so there was nothing to be done but say that
he would make the attempt.

He went down into the stable, and very sad and full of care he was.
Then Dapplegrim inquired why he was so troubled, and the youth told
him, and said that he did not know what to do, ‘for as to setting the
Princess free, that was downright impossible.’

‘Oh, but it might be done,’ said Dapplegrim. ‘I will help you; but you
must first have me well shod. You must ask for ten pounds of iron and
twelve pounds of steel for the shoeing, and one smith to hammer and one
to hold.’

So the youth did this, and no one said him nay. He got both the iron
and the steel, and the smiths, and thus was Dapplegrim shod strongly
and well, and when the youth went out of the King’s palace a cloud of
dust rose up behind him. But when he came to the mountain into which
the Princess had been carried, the difficulty was to ascend the
precipitous wall of rock by which he was to get on to the mountain
beyond, for the rock stood right up on end, as steep as a house side
and as smooth as a sheet of glass. The first time the youth rode at it
he got a little way up the precipice, but then both Dapplegrim’s fore
legs slipped, and down came horse and rider with a sound like thunder
among the mountains. The next time that he rode at it he got a little
farther up, but then one of Dapplegrim’s fore legs slipped, and down
they went with the sound of a landslip. But the third time Dapplegrim
said: ‘Now we must show what we can do,’ and went at it once more till
the stones sprang up sky high, and thus they got up. Then the lad rode
into the mountain cleft at full gallop and caught up the Princess on
his saddle-bow, and then out again before the Troll even had time to
stand up, and thus the Princess was set free.

When the youth returned to the palace the King was both happy and
delighted to get his daughter back again, as may easily be believed,
but somehow or other the people about the Court had so worked on him
that he was angry with the lad too. ‘Thou shalt have my thanks for
setting my Princess free,’ he said, when the youth came into the palace
with her, and was then about to go away.

She ought to be just as much my Princess as she is yours now, for you
are a man of your word,’ said the youth.

‘Yes, yes,’ said the King. ‘Have her thou shalt, as I have said it; but
first of all thou must make the sun shine into my palace here.’

For there was a large and high hill outside the windows which
overshadowed the palace so much that the sun could not shine in.

‘That was no part of our bargain,’ answered the youth. ‘But as nothing
that I can say will move you, I suppose I shall have to try to do my
best, for the Princess I will have.’

So he went down to Dapplegrim again and told him what the King desired,
and Dapplegrim thought that it might easily be done; but first of all
he must have new shoes, and ten pounds of iron and twelve pounds of
steel must go to the making of them, and two smiths were also
necessary, one to hammer and one to hold, and then it would be very
easy to make the sun shine into the King’s palace.

The lad asked for these things and obtained them instantly, for the
King thought that for very shame he could not refuse to give them, and
so Dapplegrim got new shoes, and they were good ones. The youth seated
himself on him, and once more they went their way, and for each hop
that Dapplegrim made, down went the hill fifteen ells into the earth,
and so they went on until there was no hill left for the King to see.

When the youth came down again to the King’s palace he asked the King
if the Princess should not at last be his, for now no one could say
that the sun was not shining into the palace. But the other people in
the palace had again stirred up the King, and he answered that the
youth should have her, and that he had never intended that he should
not; but first of all he must get her quite as good a horse to ride to
the wedding on as that which he had himself. The youth said that the
King had never told him he was to do that, and it seemed to him that he
had now really earned the Princess; but the King stuck to what he had
said, and if the youth were unable to do it he was to lose his life,
the King said. The youth went down to the stable again, and very sad
and sorrowful he was, as anyone may well imagine. Then he told
Dapplegrim that the King had now required that he should get the
Princess as good a bridal horse as that which the bridegroom had, or he
should lose his life. ‘But that will be no easy thing to do,’ said he,
‘for your equal is not to be found in all the world.’

‘Oh yes, there is one to match me,’ said Dapplegrim. ‘But it will not
be easy to get him, for he is underground. However, we will try. Now
you must go up to the King and ask for new shoes for me, and for them
we must again have ten pounds of iron, twelve pounds of steel, and two
smiths, one to hammer and one to hold, but be very particular to see
that the hooks are very sharp. And you must also ask for twelve barrels
of rye, and twelve slaughtered oxen must we have with us, and all the
twelve ox-hides with twelve hundred spikes set in each of them; all
these things must we have, likewise a barrel of tar with twelve tons of
tar in it. The youth went to the King and asked for all the things that
Dapplegrim had named, and once more, as the King thought that it would
be disgraceful to refuse them to him, he obtained them all.

So he mounted Dapplegrim and rode away from the Court, and when he had
ridden for a long, long time over hills and moors, Dapplegrim asked:
‘Do you hear anything?’

‘Yes; there is such a dreadful whistling up above in the air that I
think I am growing alarmed,’ said the youth.

‘That is all the wild birds in the forest flying about; they are sent
to stop us,’ said Dapplegrim. ‘But just cut a hole in the corn sacks,
and then they will be so busy with the corn that they will forget us.’

The youth did it. He cut holes in the corn sacks so that barley and rye
ran out on every side, and all the wild birds that were in the forest
came in such numbers that they darkened the sun. But when they caught
sight of the corn they could not refrain from it, but flew down and
began to scratch and pick at the corn and rye, and at last they began
to fight among themselves, and forgot all about the youth and
Dapplegrim, and did them no harm.

And now the youth rode onwards for a long, long time, over hill and
dale, over rocky places and morasses, and then Dapplegrim began to
listen again, and asked the youth if he heard anything now.

‘Yes; now I hear such a dreadful crackling and crashing in the forest
on every side that I think I shall be really afraid,’ said the youth.

‘That is all the wild beasts in the forest,’ said Dapplegrim; ‘they are
sent out to stop us. But just throw out the twelve carcasses of the
oxen, and they will be so much occupied with them that they will quite
forget us.’ So the youth threw out the carcasses of the oxen, and then
all the wild beasts in the forest, both bears and wolves, and lions,
and grim beasts of all kinds, came. But when they caught sight of the
carcasses of the oxen they began to fight for them till the blood
flowed, and they entirely forgot Dapplegrim and the youth.

So the youth rode onwards again, and many and many were the new scenes
they saw, for travelling on Dapplegrim’s back was not travelling
slowly, as may be imagined, and then Dapplegrim neighed.

‘Do you hear anything?’ he said.

‘Yes; I heard something like a foal neighing quite plainly a long, long
way off,’ answered the youth.

‘That’s a full-grown colt,’ said Dapplegrim, ‘if you hear it so plainly
when it is so far away from us.’

So they travelled onwards a long time, and saw one new scene after
another once more. Then Dapplegrim neighed again.

‘Do you hear anything now?’ said he.

‘Yes; now I heard it quite distinctly, and it neighed like a full-grown
horse,’ answered the youth.

‘Yes, and you will hear it again very soon,’ said Dapplegrim; ‘and then
you will hear what a voice it has.’ So they travelled on through many
more different kinds of country, and then Dapplegrim neighed for the
third time; but before he could ask the youth if he heard anything,
there was such a neighing on the other side of the heath that the youth
thought that hills and rocks would be rent in pieces.

‘Now he is here!’ said Dapplegrim. ‘Be quick, and fling over me the
ox-hides that have the spikes in them, throw the twelve tons of tar
over the field, and climb up into that great spruce fir tree. When he
comes, fire will spurt out of both his nostrils, and then the tar will
catch fire. Now mark what I say—if the flame ascends I conquer, and if
it sinks I fail; but if you see that I am winning, fling the bridle,
which you must take off me, over his head, and then he will become
quite gentle.’

Just as the youth had flung all the hides with the spikes over
Dapplegrim, and the tar over the field, and had got safely up into the
spruce fir, a horse came with flame spouting from his nostrils, and the
tar caught fire in a moment; and Dapplegrim and the horse began to
fight until the stones leapt up to the sky. They bit, and they fought
with their fore legs and their hind legs, and sometimes the youth
looked at them. And sometimes he looked at the tar, but at last the
flames began to rise, for wheresoever the strange horse bit or
wheresoever he kicked he hit upon the spikes in the hides, and at
length he had to yield. When the youth saw that, he was not long in
getting down from the tree and flinging the bridle over the horse’s
head, and then he became so tame that he might have been led by a thin
string.

This horse was dappled too, and so like Dapplegrim that no one could
distinguish the one from the other. The youth seated himself on the
dappled horse which he had captured, and rode home again to the King’s
palace, and Dapplegrim ran loose by his side. When he got there, the
King was standing outside in the courtyard.

‘Can you tell me which is the horse I have caught, and which is the one
I had before?’ said the youth. ‘If you can’t, I think your daughter is
mine.’

The King went and looked at both the dappled horses; he looked high and
he looked low, he looked before and he looked behind, but there was not
a hair’s difference between the two.

‘No,’ said the King; ‘that I cannot tell thee, and as thou hast
procured such a splendid bridal horse for my daughter thou shalt have
her; but first we must have one more trial, just to see if thou art
fated to have her. She shall hide herself twice, and then thou shalt
hide thyself twice. If thou canst find her each time that she hides
herself, and if she cannot find thee in thy hiding-places, then it is
fated, and thou shalt have the Princess.’

‘That, too, was not in our bargain,’ said the youth. ‘But we will make
this trial since it must be so.’

So the King’s daughter was to hide herself first.

Then she changed herself into a duck, and lay swimming in a lake that
was just outside the palace. But the youth went down into the stable
and asked Dapplegrim what she had done with herself.

‘Oh, all that you have to do is to take your gun, and go down to the
water and aim at the duck which is swimming about there, and she will
soon discover herself,’ said Dapplegrim.

The youth snatched up his gun and ran to the lake. ‘I will just have a
shot at that duck,’ said he, and began to aim at it.

‘Oh, no, dear friend, don’t shoot! It is I,’ said the Princess. So he
had found her once.

The second time the Princess changed herself into a loaf, and laid
herself on the table among four other loaves; and she was so like the
other loaves that no one could see any difference between them.

But the youth again went down to the stable to Dapplegrim, and told him
that the Princess had hidden herself again, and that he had not the
least idea what had become of her.

‘Oh, just take a very large bread-knife, sharpen it, and pretend that
you are going to cut straight through the third of the four loaves
which are lying on the kitchen table in the King’s palace—count them
from right to left—and you will soon find her,’ said Dapplegrim.

So the youth went up to the kitchen, and began to sharpen the largest
bread-knife that he could find; then he caught hold of the third loaf
on the left-hand side, and put the knife to it as if he meant to cut it
straight in two. ‘I will have a bit of this bread for myself,’ said he.

‘No, dear friend, don’t cut, it is I!’ said the Princess again; so he
had found her the second time.

And now it was his turn to go and hide himself; but Dapplegrim had
given him such good instructions that it was not easy to find him.
First he turned himself into a horse-fly, and hid himself in
Dapplegrim’s left nostril. The Princess went poking about and searching
everywhere, high and low, and wanted to go into Dapplegrim’s stall too,
but he began to bite and kick about so that she was afraid to go there,
and could not find the youth. ‘Well,’ said she, ‘as I am unable to find
you, you must show yourself; ‘whereupon the youth immediately appeared
standing there on the stable floor.

Dapplegrim told him what he was to do the second time, and he turned
himself into a lump of earth, and stuck himself between the hoof and
the shoe on Dapplegrim’s left fore foot. Once more the King’s daughter
went and sought everywhere, inside and outside, until at last she came
into the stable, and wanted to go into the stall beside Dapplegrim. So
this time he allowed her to go into it, and she peered about high and
low, but she could not look under his hoofs, for he stood much too
firmly on his legs for that, and she could not find the youth.

‘Well, you will just have to show where you are yourself, for I can’t
find you,’ said the Princess, and in an instant the youth was standing
by her side on the floor of the stable.

‘Now you are mine!’ said he to the Princess.

‘Now you can see that it is fated that she should be mine,’ he said to
the King.

‘Yes, fated it is,’ said the King. ‘So what must be, must.’

Then everything was made ready for the wedding with great splendour and
promptitude, and the youth rode to church on Dapplegrim, and the King’s
daughter on the other horse. So everyone must see that they could not
be long on their way thither.[20]

 [20] From J. Moe.




THE ENCHANTED CANARY


I

Once upon a time, in the reign of King Cambrinus, there lived at
Avesnes one of his lords, who was the finest man—by which I mean the
fattest—in the whole country of Flanders. He ate four meals a day,
slept twelve hours out of the twenty-four, and the only thing he ever
did was to shoot at small birds with his bow and arrow.

Still, with all his practice he shot very badly, he was so fat and
heavy, and as he grew daily fatter, he was at last obliged to give up
walking, and be dragged about in a wheel-chair, and the people made fun
of him, and gave him the name of my Lord Tubby.

Now, the only trouble that Lord Tubby had was about his son, whom he
loved very much, although they were not in the least alike, for the
young Prince was as thin as a cuckoo. And what vexed him more than all
was, that though the young ladies throughout all his lands did their
best to make the Prince fall in love with them, he would have nothing
to say to any of them, and told his father he did not wish to marry.

Instead of chatting with them in the dusk, he wandered about the woods,
whispering to the moon. No wonder the young ladies thought him very
odd, but they liked him all the better for that; and as he had received
at his birth the name of Desire, they all called him d’Amour Desire.

‘What is the matter with you?’ his father often said to him. ‘You have
everything you can possibly wish for: a good bed, good food, and tuns
full of beer. The only thing you want, in order to become as fat as a
pig, is a wife that can bring you broad, rich lands. So marry, and you
will be perfectly happy.’

‘I ask nothing better than to marry,’ replied Desire, ‘but I have never
seen a woman that pleases me. All the girls here are pink and white,
and I am tired to death of their eternal lilie and roses.

‘My faith!’ cried Tubby; ‘do you want to marry a negress, and give me
grandchildren as ugly as monkeys and as stupid as owls?’

‘No, father, nothing of the sort. But there must be women somewhere in
the world who are neither pink nor white, and I tell you, once for all,
that I will never marry until I have found one exactly to my taste.’

II

Some time afterwards, it happened that the Prior of the Abbey of Saint
Amand sent to the Lord of Avesnes a basket of oranges, with a
beautifully-written letter saying that these golden fruit, then unknown
in Flanders, came straight from a land where the sun always shone.

That evening Tubby and his son ate the golden apples at supper, and
thought them delicious.

Next morning as the day dawned, Desire went down to the stable and
saddled his pretty white horse. Then he went, all dressed for a
journey, to the bedside of Tubby, and found him smoking his first pipe.

‘Father,’ he said gravely, ‘I have come to bid you farewell. Last night
I dreamed that I was walking in a wood, where the trees were covered
with golden apples. I gathered one of them, and when I opened it there
came out a lovely princess with a golden skin. That is the wife I want,
and I am going to look for her.’

The Lord of Avesnes was so much astonished that he let his pipe fall to
the ground; then he became so diverted at the notion of his son
marrying a yellow woman, and a woman shut up inside an orange, that he
burst into fits of laughter.

Desire waited to bid him good-bye until he was quiet again; but as his
father went on laughing and showed no signs of stopping, the young man
took his hand, kissed it tenderly, opened the door, and in the
twinkling of an eye was as at the bottom of the staircase. He jumped
lightly on his horse, and was a mile from home before Tubby had ceased
laughing.

‘A yellow wife! He must be mad! fit for a strait waistcoat!’ cried the
good man, when he was able to speak. ‘Here! quick! bring him back to
me.’

The servants mounted their horses and rode after the Prince; but as
they did not know which road he had taken, they went all ways except
the right one, and instead of bringing him back they returned
themselves when it grew dark, with their horses worn out and covered
with dust.

III

When Desire thought they could no longer catch him, he pulled his horse
into a walk, like a prudent man who knows he has far to go. He
travelled in this way for many weeks, passing by villages, towns,
mountains, valleys, and plains, but always pushing south, where every
day the sun seemed hotter and more brilliant.

At last one day at sunset Desire felt the sun so warm, that he thought
he must now be near the place of his dream. He was at that moment close
to the corner of a wood where stood a little hut, before the door of
which his horse stopped of his own accord. An old man with a white
beard was sitting on the doorstep enjoying the fresh air. The Prince
got down from his horse and asked leave to rest.

‘Come in, my young friend,’ said the old man; ‘my house is not large,
but it is big enough to hold a stranger.’

The traveller entered, and his host put before him a simple meal. When
his hunger was satisfied the old man said to him:

‘If I do not mistake, you come from far. May I ask where you are
going?’

‘I will tell you,’ answered Desire, ‘though most likely you will laugh
at me. I dreamed that in the land of the sun there was a wood full of
orange trees, and that in one of the oranges I should find a beautiful
princess who is to be my wife. It is she I am seeking.’

‘Why should I laugh?’ asked the old man. ‘Madness in youth is true
wisdom. Go, young man, follow your dream, and if you do not find the
happiness that you seek, at any rate you will have had the happiness of
seeking it.’

IV

The next day the Prince arose early and took leave of his host.

‘The wood that you saw in your dream is not far from here,’ said the
old man. ‘It is in the depth of the forest, and this road will lead you
there. You will come to a vast park surrounded by high walls. In the
middle of the park is a castle, where dwells a horrible witch who
allows no living being to enter the doors. Behind the castle is the
orange grove. Follow the wall till you come to a heavy iron gate. Don’t
try to press it open, but oil the hinges with this,’ and the old man
gave him a small bottle.

‘The gate will open of itself,’ he continued, ‘and a huge dog which
guards the castle will come to you with his mouth wide open, but just
throw him this oat cake. Next, you will see a baking woman leaning over
her heated oven. Give her this brush. Lastly, you will find a well on
your left; do not forget to take the cord of the bucket and spread it
in the sun. When you have done this, do not enter the castle, but go
round it and enter the orange grove. Then gather three oranges, and get
back to the gate as fast as you can. Once out of the gate, leave the
forest by the opposite side.

‘Now, attend to this: whatever happens, do not open your oranges till
you reach the bank of a river, or a fountain. Out of each orange will
come a princess, and you can choose which you like for your wife. Your
choice once made, be very careful never to leave your bride for an
instant, and remember that the danger which is most to be feared is
never the danger we are most afraid of.’

V

Desire thanked his host warmly, and took the road he pointed out. In
less than an hour he arrived at the wall, which was very high indeed.
He sprang to the ground, fastened his horse to a tree, and soon found
the iron gate. Then he took out his bottle and oiled the hinges, when
the gate opened of itself, and he saw an old castle standing inside.
The Prince entered boldly into the courtyard.

Suddenly he heard fierce howls, and a dog as tall as a donkey, with
eyes like billiard balls, came towards him, showing his teeth, which
were like the prongs of a fork. Desire flung him the oat cake, which
the great dog instantly snapped up, and the young Prince passed quietly
on.

A few yards further he saw a huge oven, with a wide, red-hot gaping
mouth. A woman as tall as a giant was leaning over the oven. Desire
gave her the brush, which she took in silence.

Then he went on to the well, drew up the cord, which was half rotten,
and stretched it out in the sun.

Lastly he went round the castle, and plunged into the orange grove.
There he gathered the three most beautiful oranges he could find, and
turned to go back to the gate.

But just at this moment the sun was darkened, the earth trembled, and
Desire heard a voice crying:

‘Baker, baker, take him by his feet, and throw him into the oven!’

‘No,’ replied the baker; ‘a long time has passed since I first began to
scour this oven with my own flesh. _You_ never cared to give me a
brush; but he has given me one, and he shall go in peace.’

‘Rope, O rope!’ cried the voice again, ‘twine yourself round his neck
and strangle him.’

‘No,’ replied the rope; ‘you have left me for many years past to fall
to pieces with the damp. He has stretched me out in the sun. Let him go
in peace.’

‘Dog, my good dog,’ cried the voice, more and more angry, ‘jump at his
throat and eat him up.’

‘No,’ replied the dog; ‘though I have served you long, you never gave
me any bread. He has given me as much as I want. Let him go in peace.’

‘Iron gate, iron gate,’ cried the voice, growling like thunder, ‘fall
on him and grind him to powder.’

‘No,’ replied the gate; ‘it is a hundred years since you left me to
rust, and he has oiled me. Let him go in peace.’

VI

Once outside, the young adventurer put his oranges into a bag that hung
from his saddle, mounted his horse, and rode quickly out of the forest.

Now, as he was longing to see the princesses, he was very anxious to
come to a river or a fountain, but, though he rode for hours, a river
or fountain was nowhere to be seen. Still his heart was light, for he
felt that he had got through the most difficult part of his task, and
the rest was easy.

About mid-day he reached a sandy plain, scorching in the sun. Here he
was seized with dreadful thirst; he took his gourd and raised it to his
lips.

But the gourd was empty; in the excitement of his joy he had forgotten
to fill it. He rode on, struggling with his sufferings, but at last he
could bear it no longer.

He let himself slide to the earth, and lay down beside his horse, his
throat burning, his chest heaving, and his head going round. Already he
felt that death was near him, when his eyes fell on the bag where the
oranges peeped out.

Poor Desire, who had braved so many dangers to win the lady of his
dreams, would have given at this moment all the princesses in the
world, were they pink or golden, for a single drop of water.

‘Ah!’ he said to himself. ‘If only these oranges were real fruit—fruit
as refreshing as what I ate in Flanders! And, after all, who knows?’

This idea put some life into him. He had the strength to lift himself
up and put his hand into his bag. He drew out an orange and opened it
with his knife.

Out of it flew the prettiest little female canary that ever was seen.

‘Give me something to drink, I am dying of thirst,’ said the golden
bird.

‘Wait a minute,’ replied Desire, so much astonished that he forgot his
own sufferings; and to satisfy the bird he took a second orange, and
opened it without thinking what he was doing. Out of it flew another
canary, and she too began to cry:

‘I am dying of thirst; give me something to drink.’

Then Tubby’s son saw his folly, and while the two canaries flew away he
sank on the ground, where, exhausted by his last effort, he lay
unconscious.

VII

When he came to himself, he had a pleasant feeling of freshness all
about him. It was night, the sky was sparkling with stars, and the
earth was covered with a heavy dew.

The traveller having recovered, mounted his horse, and at the first
streak of dawn he saw a stream dancing in front of him, and stooped
down and drank his fill.

He hardly had courage to open his last orange. Then he remembered that
the night before he had disobeyed the orders of the old man. Perhaps
his terrible thirst was a trick of the cunning witch, and suppose, even
though he opened the orange on the banks of the stream, that he did not
find in it the princess that he sought?

He took his knife and cut it open. Alas! out of it flew a little
canary, just like the others, who cried:

‘I am thirsty; give me something to drink.’

Great was the disappointment of Desire. However, he was determined not
to let this bird fly away; so he took up some water in the palm of his
hand and held it to its beak.

Scarcely had the canary drunk when she became a beautiful girl, tall
and straight as a poplar tree, with black eyes and a golden skin.
Desire had never seen anyone half so lovely, and he stood gazing at her
in delight.

On her side she seemed quite bewildered, but she looked about her with
happy eyes, and was not at all afraid of her deliverer.

He asked her name. She answered that she was called the Princess Zizi;
she was about sixteen years old, and for ten years of that time the
witch had kept her shut up in an orange, in the shape of a canary.

‘Well, then, my charming Zizi,’ said the young Prince, who was longing
to marry her, ‘let us ride away quickly so as to escape from the wicked
witch.’

But Zizi wished to know where he meant to take her.

‘To my father’s castle,’ he said.

He mounted his horse and took her in front of him, and, holding her
carefully in his arms, they began their journey.

VIII

Everything the Princess saw was new to her, and in passing through
mountains, valleys, and towns, she asked a thousand questions. Desire
was charmed to answer them. It is so delightful to teach those one
loves!

Once she inquired what the girls in his country were like.

‘They are pink and white,’ he replied, ‘and their eyes are blue.’

‘Do you like blue eyes?’ said the Princess; but Desire thought it was a
good opportunity to find out what was in her heart, so he did not
answer.

‘And no doubt,’ went on the Princess, ‘one of them is your intended
bride?’

Still he was silent, and Zizi drew herself up proudly.

‘No,’ he said at last. ‘None of the girls of my own country are
beautiful in my eyes, and that is why I came to look for a wife in the
land of the sun. Was I wrong, my lovely Zizi?’

This time it was Zizi’s turn to be silent.

IX

Talking in this way they drew near to the castle. When they were about
four stone-throws from the gates they dismounted in the forest, by the
edge of a fountain.

‘My dear Zizi,’ said Tubby’s son, ‘we cannot present ourselves before
my father like two common people who have come back from a walk. We
must enter the castle with more ceremony. Wait for me here, and in an
hour I will return with carriages and horses fit for a princess.’

‘Don’t be long,’ replied Zizi, and she watched him go with wistful
eyes.

When she was left by herself the poor girl began to feel afraid. She
was alone for the first time in her life, and in the middle of a thick
forest.

Suddenly she heard a noise among the trees. Fearing lest it should be a
wolf, she hid herself in the hollow trunk of a willow tree which hung
over the fountain. It was big enough to hold her altogether, but she
peeped out, and her pretty head was reflected in the clear water.

Then there appeared, not a wolf, but a creature quite as wicked and
quite as ugly. Let us see who this creature was.

X

Not far from the fountain there lived a family of bricklayers. Now,
fifteen years before this time, the father in walking through the
forest found a little girl, who had been deserted by the gypsies. He
carried her home to his wife, and the good woman was sorry for her, and
brought her up with her own sons. As she grew older, the little gypsy
became much more remarkable for strength and cunning than for sense or
beauty. She had a low forehead, a flat nose, thick lips, coarse hair,
and a skin not golden like that of Zizi, but the colour of clay.

As she was always being teased about her complexion, she got as noisy
and cross as a titmouse. So they used to call her Titty.

Titty was often sent by the bricklayer to fetch water from the
fountain, and as she was very proud and lazy the gypsy disliked this
very much.

It was she who had frightened Zizi by appearing with her pitcher on her
shoulder. Just as she was stooping to fill it, she saw reflected in the
water the lovely image of the Princess.

‘What a pretty face!’ she exclaimed, ‘Why, it must be mine! How in the
world can they call me ugly? I am certainly much too pretty to be their
water carrier!’

So saying, she broke her pitcher and went home.

‘Where is your pitcher?’ asked the bricklayer.

‘Well, what do you expect? The pitcher may go many times to the
well....’

‘But at last it is broken. Well, here is a bucket that will not break.’

The gypsy returned to the fountain, and addressing once more the image
of Zizi, she said:

‘No; I don’t mean to be a beast of burden any longer.’ And she flung
the bucket so high in the air that it stuck in the branches of an oak.

‘I met a wolf,’ she told the bricklayer, ‘and I broke the bucket across
his nose.’

The bricklayer asked her no more questions, but took down a broom and
gave her such a beating that her pride was humbled a little.

Then he handed to her an old copper milk-can, and said:

‘If you don’t bring it back full, your bones shall suffer for it.’

XI

Titty went off rubbing her sides; but this time she did not dare to
disobey, and in a very bad temper stooped down over the well. It was
not at all easy to fill the milk-can, which was large and round. It
would not go down into the well, and the gypsy had to try again and
again.

At last her arms grew so tired that when she did manage to get the can
properly under the water she had no strength to pull it up, and it
rolled to the bottom.

On seeing the can disappear, she made such a miserable face that Zizi,
who had been watching her all this time, burst into fits of laughter.

Titty turned round and perceived the mistake she had made; and she felt
so angry that she made up her mind to be revenged at once.

‘What are you doing there, you lovely creature?’ she said to Zizi.

‘I am waiting for my lover,’ Zizi replied; and then, with a simplicity
quite natural in a girl who so lately had been a canary, she told all
her story.

The gypsy had often seen the young Prince pass by, with his gun on his
shoulder, when he was going after crows. She was too ugly and ragged
for him ever to have noticed her, but Titty on her side had admired
him, though she thought he might well have been a little fatter.

‘Dear, dear!’ she said to herself. ‘So he likes yellow women! Why, I am
yellow too, and if I could only think of a way——’

It was not long before she did think of it.

‘What!’ cried the sly Titty, ‘they are coming with great pomp to fetch
you, and you are not afraid to show yourself to so many fine lords and
ladies with your hair down like that? Get down at once, my poor child,
and let me dress your hair for you!’

The innocent Zizi came down at once, and stood by Titty. The gypsy
began to comb her long brown locks, when suddenly she drew a pin from
her stays, and, just as the titmouse digs its beak into the heads of
linnets and larks, Titty dug the pin into the head of Zizi.

No sooner did Zizi feel the prick of the pin than she became a bird
again, and, spreading her wings, she flew away.

‘That was neatly done,’ said the gypsy. ‘The Prince will be clever if
he finds his bride.’ And, arranging her dress, she seated herself on
the grass to await Desire.

XII

Meanwhile the Prince was coming as fast as his horse could carry him.
He was so impatient that he was always full fifty yards in front of the
lords and ladies sent by Tubby to bring back Zizi.

At the sight of the hideous gypsy he was struck dumb with surprise and
horror.

‘Ah me!’ said Titty, ‘so you don’t know your poor Zizi? While you were
away the wicked witch came, and turned me into this. But if you only
have the courage to marry me I shall get back my beauty.’ And she began
to cry bitterly.

Now the good-natured Desire was as soft-hearted as he was brave.

‘Poor girl,’ he thought to himself. ‘It is not her fault, after all,
that she has grown so ugly, it is mine. Oh! why did I not follow the
old man’s advice? Why did I leave her alone? And besides, it depends on
me to break the spell, and I love her too much to let her remain like
this.’

So he presented the gypsy to the lords and ladies of the Court,
explaining to them the terrible misfortune which had befallen his
beautiful bride.

They all pretended to believe it, and the ladies at once put on the
false princess the rich dresses they had brought for Zizi.

She was then perched on the top of a magnificent ambling palfrey, and
they set forth to the castle.

But unluckily the rich dress and jewels only made Titty look uglier
still, and Desire could not help feeling hot and uncomfortable when he
made his entry with her into the city.

Bells were pealing, chimes ringing, and the people filling the streets
and standing at their doors to watch the procession go by, and they
could hardly believe their eyes as they saw what a strange bride their
Prince had chosen.

In order to do her more honour, Tubby came to meet her at the foot of
the great marble staircase. At the sight of the hideous creature he
almost fell backwards.

‘What!’ he cried. ‘Is this the wonderful beauty?’

‘Yes, father, it is she,’ replied Desire with a sheepish look. ‘But she
has been bewitched by a wicked sorceress, and will not regain her
beauty until she is my wife.’

‘Does she say so? Well, if you believe that, you may drink cold water
and think it bacon,’ the unhappy Tubby answered crossly.

But all the same, as he adored his son, he gave the gypsy his hand and
led her to the great hall, where the bridal feast was spread.

XIII

The feast was excellent, but Desire hardly touched anything. However,
to make up, the other guests ate greedily, and, as for Tubby, nothing
ever took away his appetite.

When the moment arrived to serve the roast goose, there was a pause,
and Tubby took the opportunity to lay down his knife and fork for a
little. But as the goose gave no sign of appearing, he sent his head
carver to find out what was the matter in the kitchen.

Now this was what had happened.

While the goose was turning on the spit, a beautiful little canary
hopped on to the sill of the open window.

‘Good-morning, my fine cook,’ she said in a silvery voice to the man
who was watching the roast.

‘Good-morning, lovely golden bird,’ replied the chief of the scullions,
who had been well brought up.

‘I pray that Heaven may send you to sleep,’ said the golden bird, ‘and
that the goose may burn, so that there may be none left for Titty.’

And instantly the chief of the scullions fell fast asleep, and the
goose was burnt to a cinder.

When he awoke he was horrified, and gave orders to pluck another goose,
to stuff it with chestnuts, and put it on the spit.

While it was browning at the fire, Tubby inquired for his goose a
second time. The Master Cook himself mounted to the hall to make his
excuses, and to beg his lord to have a little patience. Tubby showed
his patience by abusing his son.

‘As if it wasn’t enough,’ he grumbled between his teeth, ‘that the boy
should pick up a hag without a penny, but the goose must go and burn
now. It isn’t a wife he has brought me, it is Famine herself.’

XIV

While the Master Cook was upstairs, the golden bird came again to perch
on the window-sill, and called in his clear voice to the head scullion,
who was watching the spit:

‘Good-morning, my fine Scullion!’

‘Good-morning, lovely Golden Bird,’ replied the Scullion, whom the
Master Cook had forgotten in his excitement to warn.

‘I pray Heaven,’ went on the Canary, ‘that it will send you to sleep,
and that the goose may burn, so that there may be none left for Titty.’

And the Scullion fell fast asleep, and when the Master Cook came back
he found the goose as black as the chimney.

In a fury he woke the Scullion, who in order to save himself from blame
told the whole story.

‘That accursed bird,’ said the Cook; ‘it will end by getting me sent
away. Come, some of you, and hide yourselves, and if it comes again,
catch it and wring its neck.’

He spitted a third goose, lit a huge fire, and seated himself by it.

The bird appeared a third time, and said: ‘Good-morning, my fine Cook.’

‘Good-morning, lovely Golden Bird,’ replied the Cook, as if nothing had
happened, and at the moment that the Canary was beginning, ‘I pray
Heaven that it may send,’ a scullion who was hidden outside rushed out
and shut the shutters. The bird flew into the kitchen. Then all the
cooks and scullions sprang after it, knocking at it with their aprons.
At length one of them caught it just at the very moment that Tubby
entered the kitchen, waving his sceptre. He had come to see for himself
why the goose had never made its appearance.

The Scullion stopped at once, just as he was about to wring the
Canary’s neck.

XV

‘Will some one be kind enough to tell me the meaning of all this?’
cried the Lord of Avesnes.

‘Your Excellency, it is the bird,’ replied the Scullion, and he placed
it in his hand.

‘Nonsense! What a lovely bird!’ said Tubby, and in stroking its head he
touched a pin that was sticking between its feathers. He pulled it out,
and lo! the Canary at once became a beautiful girl with a golden skin
who jumped lightly to the ground.

‘Gracious! what a pretty girl!’ said Tubby.

‘Father! it is she! it is Zizi!’ exclaimed Desire, who entered at this
moment.

And he took her in his arms, crying: ‘My darling Zizi, how happy I am
to see you once more!’

‘Well, and the other one?’ asked Tubby.

The other one was stealing quietly to the door.

‘Stop her! called Tubby. ‘We will judge her cause at once.’

And he seated himself solemnly on the oven, and condemned Titty to be
burned alive. After which the lords and cooks formed themselves in
lines, and Tubby betrothed Desire to Zizi.

XVI

The marriage took place a few days later. All the boys in the country
side were there, armed with wooden swords, and decorated with epaulets
made of gilt paper.

Zizi obtained Titty’s pardon, and she was sent back to the
brick-fields, followed and hooted at by all the boys. And this is why
to-day the country boys always throw stones at a titmouse.

On the evening of the wedding-day all the larders, cellars, cupboards
and tables of the people, whether rich or poor, were loaded as if by
enchantment with bread, wine, beer, cakes and tarts, roast larks, and
even geese, so that Tubby could not complain any more that his son had
married Famine.

Since that time there has always been plenty to eat in that country,
and since that time, too, you see in the midst of the fair-haired
blue-eyed women of Flanders a few beautiful girls, whose eyes are black
and whose skins are the colour of gold. They are the descendants of
Zizi.[21]

 [21] Charles Deulin, _Contes du Roi Gambrinus_.




THE TWELVE BROTHERS


There were once upon a time a King and a Queen who lived happily
together, and they had twelve children, all of whom were boys. One day
the King said to his wife:

‘If our thirteenth child is a girl, all her twelve brothers must die,
so that she may be very rich and the kingdom hers alone.’

Then he ordered twelve coffins to be made, and filled them with
shavings, and placed a little pillow in each. These he put away in an
empty room, and, giving the key to his wife, he bade her tell no one of
it.

The Queen grieved over the sad fate of her sons and refused to be
comforted, so much so that the youngest boy, who was always with her,
and whom she had christened Benjamin, said to her one day:

‘Dear mother, why are you so sad?’

‘My child,’ she answered, ‘I may not tell you the reason.’

But he left her no peace, till she went and unlocked the room and
showed him the twelve coffins filled with shavings, and with the little
pillow laid in each.

Then she said: ‘My dearest Benjamin, your father has had these coffins
made for you and your eleven brothers, because if I bring a girl into
the world you are all to be killed and buried in them.’

She wept bitterly as she spoke, but her son comforted her and said:

‘Don’t cry, dear mother; we’ll manage to escape somehow, and will fly
for our lives.’

‘Yes,’ replied his mother, ‘that is what you must do—go with your
eleven brothers out into the wood, and let one of you always sit on the
highest tree you can find, keeping watch on the tower of the castle. If
I give birth to a little son I will wave a white flag, and then you may
safely return; but if I give birth to a little daughter I will wave a
red flag, which will warn you to fly away as quickly as you can, and
may the kind Heaven have pity on you. Every night I will get up and
pray for you, in winter that you may always have a fire to warm
yourselves by, and in summer that you may not languish in the heat.’

Then she blessed her sons and they set out into the wood. They found a
very high oak tree, and there they sat, turn about, keeping their eyes
always fixed on the castle tower. On the twelfth day, when the turn
came to Benjamin, he noticed a flag waving in the air, but alas! it was
not white, but blood red, the sign which told them they must all die.
When the brothers heard this they were very angry, and said:

‘Shall we forsooth suffer death for the sake of a wretched girl? Let us
swear vengeance, and vow that wherever and whenever we shall meet one
of her sex, she shall die at our hands.’

Then they went their way deeper into the wood, and in the middle of it,
where it was thickest and darkest, they came upon a little enchanted
house which stood empty.

‘Here,’ they said, ‘let us take up our abode, and you, Benjamin, you
are the youngest and weakest, you shall stay at home and keep house for
us; we others will go out and fetch food.’ So they went forth into the
wood, and shot hares and roe-deer, birds and wood-pigeons, and any
other game they came across. They always brought their spoils home to
Benjamin, who soon learnt to make them into dainty dishes. So they
lived for ten years in this little house, and the time slipped merrily
away.

In the meantime their little sister at home was growing up quickly. She
was kind-hearted and of a fair countenance, and she had a gold star
right in the middle of her forehead. One day a big washing was going on
at the palace, and the girl looking down from her window saw twelve
men’s shirts hanging up to dry, and asked her mother:

‘Who in the world do these shirts belong to? Surely they are far too
small for my father?’

And the Queen answered sadly: ‘Dear child, they belong to your twelve
brothers.’

‘But where are my twelve brothers?’ said the girl. ‘I have never even
heard of them.’

‘Heaven alone knows in what part of the wide world they are wandering,’
replied her mother.

Then she took the girl and opened the locked-up room; she showed her
the twelve coffins filled with shavings, and with the little pillow
laid in each.

‘These coffins,’ she said, ‘were intended for your brothers, but they
stole secretly away before you were born.’

Then she proceeded to tell her all that had happened, and when she had
finished her daughter said:

‘Do not cry, dearest mother; I will go and seek my brothers till I find
them.’

So she took the twelve shirts and went on straight into the middle of
the big wood. She walked all day long, and came in the evening to the
little enchanted house. She stepped in and found a youth who,
marvelling at her beauty, at the royal robes she wore, and at the
golden star on her forehead, asked her where she came from and whither
she was going.

‘I am a Princess,’ she answered, ‘and am seeking for my twelve
brothers. I mean to wander as far as the blue sky stretches over the
earth till I find them.’

Then she showed him the twelve shirts which she had taken with her, and
Benjamin saw that it must be his sister, and said:

‘I am Benjamin, your youngest brother.’

So they wept for joy, and kissed and hugged each other again and again.
After a time Benjamin said:

‘Dear sister, there is still a little difficulty, for we had all agreed
that any girl we met should die at our hands, because it was for the
sake of a girl that we had to leave our kingdom.’

‘But,’ she replied, ‘I will gladly die if by that means I can restore
my twelve brothers to their own.’

‘No,’ he answered, ‘there is no need for that; only go and hide under
that tub till our eleven brothers come in, and I’ll soon make matters
right with them.’

She did as she was bid, and soon the others came home from the chase
and sat down to supper.

‘Well, Benjamin, what’s the news?’ they asked. But he replied, ‘I like
that; have you nothing to tell me?’

‘No,’ they answered.

Then he said: ‘Well, now, you’ve been out in the wood all the day and
I’ve stayed quietly at home, and all the same I know more than you do.’

‘Then tell us,’ they cried.

But he answered: ‘Only on condition that you promise faithfully that
the first girl we meet shall not be killed.’

‘She shall be spared,’ they promised, ‘only tell us the news.’

Then Benjamin said: ‘Our sister is here!’ and he lifted up the tub and
the Princess stepped forward, with her royal robes and with the golden
star on her forehead, looking so lovely and sweet and charming that
they all fell in love with her on the spot.

They arranged that she should stay at home with Benjamin and help him
in the house work, while the rest of the brothers went out into the
wood and shot hares and roe-deer, birds and wood-pigeons. And Benjamin
and his sister cooked their meals for them. She gathered herbs to cook
the vegetables in, fetched the wood, and watched the pots on the fire,
and always when her eleven brothers returned she had their supper ready
for them. Besides this, she kept the house in order, tidied all the
rooms, and made herself so generally useful that her brothers were
delighted, and they all lived happily together.

One day the two at home prepared a fine feast, and when they were all
assembled they sat down and ate and drank and made merry.

Now there was a little garden round the enchanted house, in which grew
twelve tall lilies. The girl, wishing to please her brothers, plucked
the twelve flowers, meaning to present one to each of them as they sat
at supper. But hardly had she plucked the flowers when her brothers
were turned into twelve ravens, who flew croaking over the wood, and
the house and garden vanished also.

So the poor girl found herself left all alone in the wood, and as she
looked round her she noticed an old woman standing close beside her,
who said:

‘My child, what have you done? Why didn’t you leave the flowers alone?
They were your twelve brothers. Now they are changed for ever into
ravens.’

The girl asked, sobbing: ‘Is there no means of setting them free?’

‘No,’ said the old woman, ‘there is only one way in the whole world,
and that is so difficult that you won’t free them by it, for you would
have to be dumb and not laugh for seven years, and if you spoke a
single word, though but an hour were wanting to the time, your silence
would all have been in vain, and that one word would slay your
brothers.’

Then the girl said to herself: ‘If that is all I am quite sure I can
free my brothers.’ So she searched for a high tree, and when she had
found one she climbed up it and spun all day long, never laughing or
speaking one word.

Now it happened one day that a King who was hunting in the wood had a
large greyhound, who ran sniffing to the tree on which the girl sat,
and jumped round it, yelping and barking furiously. The King’s
attention was attracted, and when he looked up and beheld the beautiful
Princess with the golden star on her forehead, he was so enchanted by
her beauty that he asked her on the spot to be his wife. She gave no
answer, but nodded slightly with her head. Then he climbed up the tree
himself, lifted her down, put her on his horse and bore her home to his
palace.

The marriage was celebrated with much pomp and ceremony, but the bride
neither spoke nor laughed.

When they had lived a few years happily together, the King’s mother,
who was a wicked old woman, began to slander the young Queen, and said
to the King:

‘She is only a low-born beggar maid that you have married; who knows
what mischief she is up to? If she is deaf and can’t speak, she might
at least laugh; depend upon it, those who don’t laugh have a bad
conscience.’ At first the King paid no heed to her words, but the old
woman harped so long on the subject, and accused the young Queen of so
many bad things, that at last he let himself be talked over, and
condemned his beautiful wife to death.

So a great fire was lit in the courtyard of the palace, where she was
to be burnt, and the King watched the proceedings from an upper window,
crying bitterly the while, for he still loved his wife dearly. But just
as she had been bound to the stake, and the flames were licking her
garments with their red tongues, the very last moment of the seven
years had come. Then a sudden rushing sound was heard in the air, and
twelve ravens were seen flying overhead. They swooped downwards, and as
soon as they touched the ground they turned into her twelve brothers,
and she knew that she had freed them.

They quenched the flames and put out the fire, and, unbinding their
dear sister from the stake, they kissed and hugged her again and again.
And now that she was able to open her mouth and speak, she told the
King why she had been dumb and not able to laugh.

The King rejoiced greatly when he heard she was innocent, and they all
lived happily ever afterwards.[22]

 [22] Grimm.




RAPUNZEL


Once upon a time there lived a man and his wife who were very unhappy
because they had no children. These good people had a little window at
the back of their house, which looked into the most lovely garden, full
of all manner of beautiful flowers and vegetables; but the garden was
surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to enter it, for it
belonged to a witch of great power, who was feared by the whole world.
One day the woman stood at the window overlooking the garden, and saw
there a bed full of the finest rampion: the leaves looked so fresh and
green that she longed to eat them. The desire grew day by day, and just
because she knew she couldn’t possibly get any, she pined away and
became quite pale and wretched. Then her husband grew alarmed and said:

‘What ails you, dear wife?’

‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘if I don’t get some rampion to eat out of the
garden behind the house, I know I shall die.’

The man, who loved her dearly, thought to himself, ‘Come! rather than
let your wife die you shall fetch her some rampion, no matter the
cost.’ So at dusk he climbed over the wall into the witch’s garden,
and, hastily gathering a handful of rampion leaves, he returned with
them to his wife. She made them into a salad, which tasted so good that
her longing for the forbidden food was greater than ever. If she were
to know any peace of mind, there was nothing for it but that her
husband should climb over the garden wall again, and fetch her some
more. So at dusk over he got, but when he reached the other side he
drew back in terror, for there, standing before him, was the old witch.

‘How dare you,’ she said, with a wrathful glance, ‘climb into my garden
and steal my rampion like a common thief? You shall suffer for your
foolhardiness.’

‘Oh!’ he implored, ‘pardon my presumption; necessity alone drove me to
the deed. My wife saw your rampion from her window, and conceived such
a desire for it that she would certainly have died if her wish had not
been gratified.’ Then the Witch’s anger was a little appeased, and she
said:

‘If it’s as you say, you may take as much rampion away with you as you
like, but on one condition only—that you give me the child your wife
will shortly bring into the world. All shall go well with it, and I
will look after it like a mother.’

The man in his terror agreed to everything she asked, and as soon as
the child was born the Witch appeared, and having given it the name of
Rapunzel, which is the same as rampion, she carried it off with her.

Rapunzel was the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was
twelve years old the Witch shut her up in a tower, in the middle of a
great wood, and the tower had neither stairs nor doors, only high up at
the very top a small window. When the old Witch wanted to get in she
stood underneath and called out:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,’


for Rapunzel had wonderful long hair, and it was as fine as spun gold.
Whenever she heard the Witch’s voice she unloosed her plaits, and let
her hair fall down out of the window about twenty yards below, and the
old Witch climbed up by it.

After they had lived like this for a few years, it happened one day
that a Prince was riding through the wood and passed by the tower. As
he drew near it he heard someone singing so sweetly that he stood still
spell-bound, and listened. It was Rapunzel in her loneliness trying to
while away the time by letting her sweet voice ring out into the wood.
The Prince longed to see the owner of the voice, but he sought in vain
for a door in the tower. He rode home, but he was so haunted by the
song he had heard that he returned every day to the wood and listened.
One day, when he was standing thus behind a tree, he saw the old Witch
approach and heard her call out:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair.’


Then Rapunzel let down her plaits, and the Witch climbed up by them.

‘So that’s the staircase, is it?’ said the Prince. ‘Then I too will
climb it and try my luck.’

So on the following day, at dusk, he went to the foot of the tower and
cried:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,’


and as soon as she had let it down the Prince climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man came in, for she
had never seen one before; but the Prince spoke to her so kindly, and
told her at once that his heart had been so touched by her singing,
that he felt he should know no peace of mind till he had seen her. Very
soon Rapunzel forgot her fear, and when he asked her to marry him she
consented at once. ‘For,’ she thought, ‘he is young and handsome, and
I’ll certainly be happier with him than with the old Witch.’ So she put
her hand in his and said:

‘Yes, I will gladly go with you, only how am I to get down out of the
tower? Every time you come to see me you must bring a skein of silk
with you, and I will make a ladder of them, and when it is finished I
will climb down by it, and you will take me away on your horse.’

They arranged that till the ladder was ready, he was to come to her
every evening, because the old woman was with her during the day. The
old Witch, of course, knew nothing of what was going on, till one day
Rapunzel, not thinking of what she was about, turned to the Witch and
said:

‘How is it, good mother, that you are so much harder to pull up than
the young Prince? He is always with me in a moment.’

‘Oh! you wicked child,’ cried the Witch. ‘What is this I hear? I
thought I had hidden you safely from the whole world, and in spite of
it you have managed to deceive me.’

In her wrath she seized Rapunzel’s beautiful hair, wound it round and
round her left hand, and then grasping a pair of scissors in her right,
snip snap, off it came, and the beautiful plaits lay on the ground.
And, worse than this, she was so hard-hearted that she took Rapunzel to
a lonely desert place, and there left her to live in loneliness and
misery.

But on the evening of the day in which she had driven poor Rapunzel
away, the Witch fastened the plaits on to a hook in the window, and
when the Prince came and called out:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,’


she let them down, and the Prince climbed up as usual, but instead of
his beloved Rapunzel he found the old Witch, who fixed her evil,
glittering eyes on him, and cried mockingly:

‘Ah, ah! you thought to find your lady love, but the pretty bird has
flown and its song is dumb; the cat caught it, and will scratch out
your eyes too. Rapunzel is lost to you for ever—you will never see her
more.’

The Prince was beside himself with grief, and in his despair he jumped
right down from the tower, and, though he escaped with his life, the
thorns among which he fell pierced his eyes out. Then he wandered,
blind and miserable, through the wood, eating nothing but roots and
berries, and weeping and lamenting the loss of his lovely bride. So he
wandered about for some years, as wretched and unhappy as he could well
be, and at last he came to the desert place where Rapunzel was living.
Of a sudden he heard a voice which seemed strangely familiar to him. He
walked eagerly in the direction of the sound, and when he was quite
close, Rapunzel recognised him and fell on his neck and wept. But two
of her tears touched his eyes, and in a moment they became quite clear
again, and he saw as well as he had ever done. Then he led her to his
kingdom, where they were received and welcomed with great joy, and they
lived happily ever after.[23]

 [23] Grimm.




THE NETTLE SPINNER


I

Once upon a time there lived at Quesnoy, in Flanders, a great lord
whose name was Burchard, but whom the country people called Burchard
the Wolf. Now Burchard had such a wicked, cruel heart, that it was
whispered how he used to harness his peasants to the plough, and force
them by blows from his whip to till his land with naked feet.

His wife, on the other hand, was always tender and pitiful to the poor
and miserable.

Every time that she heard of another misdeed of her husband’s she
secretly went to repair the evil, which caused her name to be blessed
throughout the whole country-side. This Countess was adored as much as
the Count was hated.

II

One day when he was out hunting the Count passed through a forest, and
at the door of a lonely cottage he saw a beautiful girl spinning hemp.

‘What is your name?’ he asked her.

‘Renelde, my lord.’

‘You must get tired of staying in such a lonely place?’

‘I am accustomed to it, my lord, and I never get tired of it.’

‘That may be so; but come to the castle, and I will make you lady’s
maid to the Countess.’

‘I cannot do that, my lord. I have to look after my grandmother, who is
very helpless.’

‘Come to the castle, I tell you. I shall expect you this evening,’ and
he went on his way.

But Renelde, who was betrothed to a young wood-cutter called Guilbert,
had no intention of obeying the Count, and she had, besides, to take
care of her grandmother.

Three days later the Count again passed by.

‘Why didn’t you come?’ he asked the pretty spinner.

‘I told you, my lord, that I have to look after my grandmother.’

‘Come to-morrow, and I will make you lady-in-waiting to the Countess,’
and he went on his way.

This offer produced no more effect than the other, and Renelde did not
go to the castle.

‘If you will only come,’ said the Count to her when next he rode by, ‘I
will send away the Countess, and will marry you.’

But two years before, when Renelde’s mother was dying of a long
illness, the Countess had not forgotten them, but had given help when
they sorely needed it. So even if the Count had really wished to marry
Renelde, she would always have refused.

III

Some weeks passed before Burchard appeared again.

Renelde hoped she had got rid of him, when one day he stopped at the
door, his duck-gun under his arm and his game-bag on his shoulder. This
time Renelde was spinning not hemp, but flax.

‘What are you spinning?’ he asked in a rough voice.

‘My wedding shift, my lord.’

‘You are going to be married, then?’

‘Yes, my lord, by your leave.’

For at that time no peasant could marry without the leave of his
master.

‘I will give you leave on one condition. Do you see those tall nettles
that grow on the tombs in the churchyard? Go and gather them, and spin
them into two fine shifts. One shall be your bridal shift, and the
other shall be my shroud. For you shall be married the day that I am
laid in my grave.’ And the Count turned away with a mocking laugh.

Renelde trembled. Never in all Locquignol had such a thing been heard
of as the spinning of nettles.

And besides, the Count seemed made of iron and was very proud of his
strength, often boasting that he should live to be a hundred.

Every evening, when his work was done, Guilbert came to visit his
future bride. This evening he came as usual, and Renelde told him what
Burchard had said.

‘Would you like me to watch for the Wolf, and split his skull with a
blow from my axe?’

‘No,’ replied Renelde, ‘there must be no blood on my bridal bouquet.
And then we must not hurt the Count. Remember how good the Countess was
to my mother.’

An old, old woman now spoke: she was the mother of Renelde’s
grandmother, and was more than ninety years old. All day long she sat
in her chair nodding her head and never saying a word.

‘My children,’ she said, ‘all the years that I have lived in the world,
I have never heard of a shift spun from nettles. But what God commands,
man can do. Why should not Renelde try it?’

IV

Renelde did try, and to her great surprise the nettles when crushed and
prepared gave a good thread, soft and light and firm. Very soon she had
spun the first shift, which was for her own wedding. She wove and cut
it out at once, hoping that the Count would not force her to begin the
other. Just as she had finished sewing it, Burchard the Wolf passed by.

‘Well,’ said he, ‘how are the shifts getting on?’

‘Here, my lord, is my wedding garment,’ answered Renelde, showing him
the shift, which was the finest and whitest ever seen.

The Count grew pale, but he replied roughly, ‘Very good. Now begin the
other.’

The spinner set to work. As the Count returned to the castle, a cold
shiver passed over him, and he felt, as the saying is, that some one
was walking over his grave. He tried to eat his supper, but could not;
he went to bed shaking with fever. But he did not sleep, and in the
morning could not manage to rise.

This sudden illness, which every instant became worse, made him very
uneasy. No doubt Renelde’s spinning-wheel knew all about it. Was it not
necessary that his body, as well as his shroud, should be ready for the
burial?

The first thing Burchard did was to send to Renelde and to stop her
wheel.

Renelde obeyed, and that evening Guilbert asked her:

‘Has the Count given his consent to our marriage?’

‘No,’ said Renelde.

‘Continue your work, sweetheart. It is the only way of gaining it. You
know he told you so himself.’

V

The following morning, as soon as she had put the house in order, the
girl sat down to spin. Two hours after there arrived some soldiers, and
when they saw her spinning they seized her, tied her arms and legs, and
carried her to the bank of the river, which was swollen by the late
rains.

When they reached the bank they flung her in, and watched her sink,
after which they left her. But Renelde rose to the surface, and though
she could not swim she struggled to land.

Directly she got home she sat down and began to spin.

Again came the two soldiers to the cottage and seized the girl, carried
her to the river bank, tied a stone to her neck and flung her into the
water.

The moment their backs were turned the stone untied itself. Renelde
waded the ford, returned to the hut, and sat down to spin.

This time the Count resolved to go to Locquignol himself; but, as he
was very weak and unable to walk, he had himself borne in a litter. And
still the spinner spun.

When he saw her he fired a shot at her, as he would have fired at a
wild beast. The bullet rebounded without harming the spinner, who still
spun on.

Burchard fell into such a violent rage that it nearly killed him. He
broke the wheel into a thousand pieces, and then fell fainting on the
ground. He was carried back to the castle, unconscious.

The next day the wheel was mended, and the spinner sat down to spin.
Feeling that while she was spinning he was dying, the Count ordered
that her hands should be tied, and that they should not lose sight of
her for one instant.

But the guards fell asleep, the bonds loosed themselves, and the
spinner spun on.

Burchard had every nettle rooted up for three leagues round. Scarcely
had they been torn from the soil when they sowed themselves afresh, and
grew as you were looking at them.

They sprung up even in the well-trodden floor of the cottage, and as
fast as they were uprooted the distaff gathered to itself a supply of
nettles, crushed, prepared, and ready for spinning.

And every day Burchard grew worse, and watched his end approaching.

VI

Moved by pity for her husband, the Countess at last found out the cause
of his illness, and entreated him to allow himself to be cured. But the
Count in his pride refused more than ever to give his consent to the
marriage.

So the lady resolved to go without his knowledge to pray for mercy from
the spinner, and in the name of Renelde’s dead mother she besought her
to spin no more. Renelde gave her promise, but in the evening Guilbert
arrived at the cottage. Seeing that the cloth was no farther advanced
than it was the evening before, he inquired the reason. Renelde
confessed that the Countess had prayed her not to let her husband die.

‘Will he consent to our marriage?’

‘No.’

‘Let him die then.’

‘But what will the Countess say?’

‘The Countess will understand that it is not your fault; the Count
alone is guilty of his own death.’

‘Let us wait a little. Perhaps his heart may be softened.’

So they waited for one month, for two, for six, for a year. The spinner
spun no more. The Count had ceased to persecute her, but he still
refused his consent to the marriage. Guilbert became impatient.

The poor girl loved him with her whole soul, and she was more unhappy
than she had been before, when Burchard was only tormenting her body.

‘Let us have done with it,’ said Guilbert.

‘Wait a little still,’ pleaded Renelde.

But the young man grew weary. He came more rarely to Locquignol, and
very soon he did not come at all. Renelde felt as if her heart would
break, but she held firm.

One day she met the Count. She clasped her hands as if in prayer, and
cried:

‘My lord, have mercy!’

Burchard the Wolf turned away his head and passed on.

She might have humbled his pride had she gone to her spinning-wheel
again, but she did nothing of the sort.

Not long after she learnt that Guilbert had left the country. He did
not even come to say good-bye to her, but, all the same, she knew the
day and hour of his departure, and hid herself on the road to see him
once more.

When she came in she put her silent wheel into a corner, and cried for
three days and three nights.

VII

So another year went by. Then the Count fell ill, and the Countess
supposed that Renelde, weary of waiting, had begun her spinning anew;
but when she came to the cottage to see, she found the wheel silent.

However, the Count grew worse and worse till he was given up by the
doctors. The passing bell was rung, and he lay expecting Death to come
for him. But Death was not so near as the doctors thought, and still he
lingered.

He seemed in a desperate condition, but he got neither better nor
worse. He could neither live nor die; he suffered horribly, and called
loudly on Death to put an end to his pains.

In this extremity he remembered what he had told the little spinner
long ago. If Death was so slow in coming, it was because he was not
ready to follow him, having no shroud for his burial.

He sent to fetch Renelde, placed her by his bedside, and ordered her at
once to go on spinning his shroud.

Hardly had the spinner begun to work when the Count began to feel his
pains grow less.

Then at last his heart melted; he was sorry for all the evil he had
done out of pride, and implored Renelde to forgive him. So Renelde
forgave him, and went on spinning night and day.

When the thread of the nettles was spun she wove it with her shuttle,
and then cut the shroud and began to sew it.

And as before, when she sewed the Count felt his pains grow less, and
the life sinking within him, and when the needle made the last stitch
he gave his last sigh.

VIII

At the same hour Guilbert returned to the country, and, as he had never
ceased to love Renelde, he married her eight days later.

He had lost two years of happiness, but comforted himself with thinking
that his wife was a clever spinner, and, what was much more rare, a
brave and good woman.[24]

 [24] Ch. Deulin.




FARMER WEATHERBEARD


There was once upon a time a man and a woman who had an only son, and
he was called Jack. The woman thought that it was his duty to go out to
service, and told her husband that he was to take him somewhere.

‘You must get him such a good place that he will become master of all
masters,’ she said, and then she put some food and a roll of tobacco
into a bag for them.

Well, they went to a great many masters, but all said that they could
make the lad as good as they were themselves, but better than that they
could not make him. When the man came home to the old woman with this
answer, she said, ‘I shall be equally well pleased whatever you do with
him; but this I do say, that you are to have him made a master over all
masters.’ Then she once more put some food and a roll of tobacco into
the bag, and the man and his son had to set out again.

When they had walked some distance they got upon the ice, and there
they met a man in a carriage who was driving a black horse.

‘Where are you going?’ he said.

‘I have to go and get my son apprenticed to someone who will be able to
teach him a trade, for my old woman comes of such well-to-do folk that
she insists on his being taught to be master of all masters,’ said the
man.

‘We are not ill met, then,’ said the man who was driving, ‘for I am the
kind of man who can do that, and I am just looking out for such an
apprentice. Get up behind with you,’ he said to the boy, and off the
horse went with them straight up into the air.

‘No, no, wait a little!’ screamed the father of the boy. ‘I ought to
know what your name is and where you live.’

‘Oh, I am at home both in the north and the south and the east and the
west, and I am called Farmer Weatherbeard,’ said the master. ‘You may
come here again in a year’s time, and then I will tell you if the lad
suits me.’ And then they set off again and were gone.

When the man got home the old woman inquired what had become of the
son.

‘Ah! Heaven only knows what has become of him!’ said the man. ‘They
went up aloft.’ And then he told her what had happened.

But when the woman heard that, and found that the man did not at all
know either when their son would be out of his apprentice-ship, or
where he had gone, she packed him off again to find out, and gave him a
bag of food and a roll of tobacco to take away with him.

When he had walked for some time he came to a great wood, and it
stretched before him all day long as he went on, and when night began
to fall he saw a great light, and went towards it. After a long, long
time he came to a small hut at the foot of a rock, outside which an old
woman was standing drawing water up from a well with her nose, it was
so long.

‘Good-evening, mother,’ said the man.

‘Good-evening to you too,’ said the old woman. ‘No one has called me
mother this hundred years.’

‘Can I lodge here to-night?’ said the man.

‘No,’ said the old woman. But the man took out his roll of tobacco,
lighted a little of it, and then gave her a whiff. Then she was so
delighted that she began to dance, and thus the man got leave to stay
the night there. It was not long before he asked about Farmer
Weatherbeard.

She said that she knew nothing about him, but that she ruled over all
the four-footed beasts, and some of them might know him. So she
gathered them all together by blowing a whistle which she had, and
questioned them, but there was not one of them which knew anything
about Farmer Weatherbeard.

‘Well,’ said the old woman, ‘there are three of us sisters; it may be
that one of the other two knows where he is to be found. You shall have
the loan of my horse and carriage, and then you will get there by
night; but her house is three hundred miles off, go the nearest way you
will.’

The man set out and got there at night. When he arrived, this old woman
also was standing drawing water out of the well with her nose.

‘Good-evening, mother,’ said the man.

‘Good-evening to you,’ said the old woman. ‘No one has ever called me
mother this hundred years.’

‘Can I lodge here to-night?’ said the man.

‘No,’ said the old woman.

Then he took out the roll of tobacco, took a whiff, and gave the old
woman some snuff on the back of her hand. Then she was so delighted
that she began to dance, and the man got leave to stay all night. It
was not long before he began to ask about Farmer Weatherbeard.

She knew nothing about him, but she ruled over all the fishes, she
said, and perhaps some of them might know something. So she gathered
them all together by blowing a whistle which she had, and questioned
them, but there was not one of them which knew anything about Farmer
Weatherbeard.

‘Well,’ said the old woman, ‘I have another sister; perhaps she may
know something about him. She lives six hundred miles off, but you
shall have my horse and carriage, and then you will get there by
nightfall.’

So the man set off and he got there by nightfall. The old woman was
standing raking the fire, and she was doing it with her nose, so long
it was.

‘Good-evening, mother,’ said the man.

‘Good-evening to you,’ said the old woman. ‘No one has called me mother
this hundred years.’

‘Can I lodge here to-night?’ said the man.

‘No,’ said the old woman. But the man pulled out his roll of tobacco
again, and filled his pipe with some of it, and gave the old woman
enough snuff to cover the back of her hand. Then she was so delighted
that she began to dance, and the man got leave to stay in her house. It
was not long before he asked about Farmer Weatherbeard. She knew
nothing at all about him, she said, but she governed all the birds; and
she gathered them together with her whistle. When she questioned them
all, the eagle was not there, but it came soon afterwards, and when
asked, it said that it had just come from Farmer Weatherbeard’s. Then
the old woman said that it was to guide the man to him. But the eagle
would have something to eat first, and then it wanted to wait until the
next day, for it was so tired with the long journey that it was
scarcely able to rise from the earth.

When the eagle had had plenty of food and rest, the old woman plucked a
feather out of its tail, and set the man in the feather’s place, and
then the bird flew away with him, but they did not get to Farmer
Weatherbeard’s before midnight.

When they got there the Eagle said: ‘There are a great many dead bodies
lying outside the door, but you must not concern yourself about them.
The people who are inside the house are all so sound asleep that it
will not be easy to awake them; but you must go straight to the
table-drawer, and take out three bits of bread, and if you hear anyone
snoring, pluck three feathers from his head; he will not waken for
that.’

The man did this; when he had got the bits of bread he first plucked
out one feather.

‘Oof!’ screamed Farmer Weatherbeard.

So the man plucked out another, and then Farmer Weatherbeard shrieked
‘Oof!’ again; but when the man had plucked the third, Farmer
Weatherbeard screamed so loudly that the man thought that brick and
mortar would be rent in twain, but for all that he went on sleeping.
And now the Eagle told the man what he was to do next, and he did it.
He went to the stable door, and there he stumbled against a hard stone,
which he picked up, and beneath it lay three splinters of wood, which
he also picked up. He knocked at the stable door and it opened at once.
He threw down the three little bits of bread and a hare came out and
ate them. He caught the hare. Then the Eagle told him to pluck three
feathers out of its tail, and put in the hare, the stone, the splinters
of wood and himself instead of them, and then he would be able to carry
them all home.

When the Eagle had flown a long way it alighted on a stone.

‘Do you see anything?’ it asked.

‘Yes; I see a flock of crows coming flying after us,’ said the man.

‘Then we shall do well to fly on a little farther,’ said the Eagle, and
off it set.

In a short time it asked again, ‘Do you see anything now?’

‘Yes; now the crows are close behind us,’ said the man.

‘Then throw down the three feathers which you plucked out of his head,’
said the Eagle.

So the man did this, and no sooner had he flung them down than the
feathers became a flock of ravens, which chased the crows home again.
Then the Eagle flew on much farther with the man, but at length it
alighted on a stone for a while.

‘Do you see anything?’ it said.

‘I am not quite certain,’ said the man, ‘but I think I see something
coming in the far distance.’

‘Then we shall do well to fly on a little farther,’ said the Eagle, and
away it went.

‘Do you see anything now?’ it said, after some time had gone by.

‘Yes; now they are close behind us,’ said the man.

‘Then throw down the splinters of wood which you took from beneath the
gray stone by the stable door,’ said the Eagle. The man did this, and
no sooner had he flung them down than they grew up into a great thick
wood, and Farmer Weatherbeard had to go home for an axe to cut his way
through it. So the Eagle flew on a long, long way, but then it grew
tired and sat down on a fir tree.

‘Do you see anything?’ it asked.

‘Yes; I am not quite certain,’ said the man, ‘but I think I can catch a
glimpse of something far, far away.’

‘Then we shall do well to fly on a little farther,’ said the Eagle, and
it set off again.

‘Do you see anything now?’ it said after some time had gone by.

‘Yes; he is close behind us now,’ said the man.

‘Then you must fling down the great stone which you took away from the
stable door,’ said the Eagle.

The man did so, and it turned into a great high mountain of stone,
which Farmer Weatherbeard had to break his way through before he could
follow them. But when he had got to the middle of the mountain he broke
one of his legs, so he had to go home to get it put right.

While he was doing this the Eagle flew off to the man’s home with him,
and with the hare, and when they had got home the man went to the
churchyard, and had some Christian earth laid upon the hare, and then
it turned into his son Jack.

When the time came for the fair the youth turned himself into a
light-coloured horse, and bade his father go to the market with him.
‘If anyone should come who wants to buy me,’ said he, ‘you are to tell
him that you want a hundred dollars for me; but you must not forget to
take off the halter, for if you do I shall never be able to get away
from Farmer Weatherbeard, for he is the man who will come and bargain
for me.’

And thus it happened. A horse-dealer came who had a great fancy to
bargain for the horse, and the man got a hundred dollars for it, but
when the bargain was made, and Jack’s father had got the money, the
horse-dealer wanted to have the halter.

‘That was no part of our bargain,’ said the man, ‘and the halter you
shall not have, for I have other horses which I shall have to sell.’

So each of them went his way. But the horse dealer had not got very far
with Jack before he resumed his own form again, and when the man got
home he was sitting on the bench by the stove.

The next day he changed himself into a brown horse and told his father
that he was to set off to market with him. ‘If a man should come who
wants to buy me,’ said Jack, ‘you are to tell him that you want two
hundred dollars, for that he will give, and treat you besides; but
whatsoever you drink, and whatsoever you do, don’t forget to take the
halter off me, or you will never see me more.’

And thus it happened. The man got his two hundred dollars for the
horse, and was treated as well, and when they parted from each other it
was just as much as he could do to remember to take off the halter. But
the buyer had not got far on his way before the youth took his own form
again, and when the man reached home Jack was already sitting on the
bench by the stove.

On the third day all happened in the same way. The youth changed
himself into a great black horse, and told his father that if a man
came and offered him three hundred dollars, and treated him well and
handsomely into the bargain, he was to sell him, but whatsoever he did,
or how much soever he drank, he must not forget to take off the halter,
or else he himself would never get away from Farmer Weatherbeard as
long as he lived.

‘No,’ said the man, ‘I will not forget.’

When he got to the market, he received the three hundred dollars, but
Farmer Weatherbeard treated him so handsomely that he quite forgot to
take off the halter; so Farmer Weatherbeard went away with the horse.

When he had got some distance he had to go into an inn to get some more
brandy; so he set a barrel full of red-hot nails under his horse’s
nose, and a trough filled with oats beneath its tail, and then he tied
the halter fast to a hook and went away into the inn. So the horse
stood there stamping, and kicking, and snorting, and rearing, and out
came a girl who thought it a sin and a shame to treat a horse so ill.

‘Ah, poor creature, what a master you must have to treat you thus!’ she
said, and pushed the halter off the hook so that the horse might turn
round and eat the oats.

‘I am here!’ shrieked Farmer Weatherbeard, rushing out of doors. But
the horse had already shaken off the halter and flung himself into a
goose-pond, where he changed himself into a little fish. Farmer
Weatherbeard went after him, and changed himself into a great pike. So
Jack turned himself into a dove, and Farmer Weatherbeard turned himself
into a hawk, and flew after the dove and struck it. But a Princess was
standing at a window in the King’s palace watching the struggle.

‘If thou didst but know as much as I know, thou wouldst fly in to me
through the window,’ said the Princess to the dove.

So the dove came flying in through the window and changed itself into
Jack again, and told her all as it had happened.

‘Change thyself into a gold ring, and set thyself on my finger,’ said
the Princess.

‘No, that will not do,’ said Jack, ‘for then Farmer Weatherbeard will
make the King fall sick, and there will be no one who can make him well
again before Farmer Weatherbeard comes and cures him, and for that he
will demand the gold ring.’

‘I will say that it was my mother’s, and that I will not part with it,’
said the Princess.

So Jack changed himself into a gold ring, and set himself on the
Princess’s finger, and Farmer Weatherbeard could not get at him there.
But then all that the youth had foretold came to pass.

The King became ill, and there was no doctor who could cure him till
Farmer Weatherbeard arrived, and he demanded the ring which was on the
Princess’s finger as a reward.

So the King sent a messenger to the Princess for the ring. She,
however, refused to part with it, because she had inherited it from her
mother. When the King was informed of this he fell into a rage, and
said that he would have the ring, let her have inherited it from whom
she might.

‘Well, it’s of no use to be angry about it,’ said the Princess, ‘for I
can’t get it off. If you want the ring you will have to take the finger
too!’

‘I will try, and then the ring will very soon come off,’ said Farmer
Weatherbeard.

‘No, thank you, I will try myself,’ said the Princess, and she went
away to the fireplace and put some ashes on the ring.

So the ring came off and was lost among the ashes.

Farmer Weatherbeard changed himself into a hare, which scratched and
scraped about in the fireplace after the ring until the ashes were up
to its ears. But Jack changed himself into a fox, and bit the hare’s
head off, and if Farmer Weatherbeard was possessed by the evil one all
was now over with him.[25]

 [25] From P. C. Asbjørnsen.




MOTHER HOLLE


Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters; one of them
was pretty and clever, and the other ugly and lazy. But as the ugly one
was her own daughter, she liked her far the best of the two, and the
pretty one had to do all the work of the house, and was in fact the
regular maid of all work. Every day she had to sit by a well on the
high road, and spin till her fingers were so sore that they often bled.
One day some drops of blood fell on her spindle, so she dipped it into
the well meaning to wash it, but, as luck would have it, it dropped
from her hand and fell right in. She ran weeping to her stepmother, and
told her what had happened, but she scolded her harshly, and was so
merciless in her anger that she said:

‘Well, since you’ve dropped the spindle down, you must just go after it
yourself, and don’t let me see your face again until you bring it with
you.’

Then the poor girl returned to the well, and not knowing what she was
about, in the despair and misery of her heart she sprang into the well
and sank to the bottom. For a time she lost all consciousness, and when
she came to herself again she was lying in a lovely meadow, with the
sun shining brightly overhead, and a thousand flowers blooming at her
feet. She rose up and wandered through this enchanted place, till she
came to a baker’s oven full of bread, and the bread called out to her
as she passed:

‘Oh! take me out, take me out, or I shall be burnt to a cinder. I am
quite done enough.’

So she stepped up quickly to the oven and took out all the loaves one
after the other. Then she went on a little farther and came to a tree
laden with beautiful rosy-cheeked apples, and as she passed by it
called out:

‘Oh I shake me, shake me, my apples are all quite ripe.’

She did as she was asked, and shook the tree till the apples fell like
rain and none were left hanging. When she had gathered them all up into
a heap she went on her way again, and came at length to a little house,
at the door of which sat an old woman. The old dame had such large
teeth that the girl felt frightened and wanted to run away, but the old
woman called after her:

‘What are you afraid of, dear child? Stay with me and be my little
maid, and if you do your work well I will reward you handsomely; but
you must be very careful how you make my bed—you must shake it well
till the feathers fly; then people in the world below say it snows, for
I am Mother Holle.’

She spoke so kindly that the girl took heart and agreed readily to
enter her service. She did her best to please the old woman, and shook
her bed with such a will that the feathers flew about like snow-flakes;
so she led a very easy life, was never scolded, and lived on the fat of
the land. But after she had been some time with Mother Holle she grew
sad and depressed, and at first she hardly knew herself what was the
matter. At last she discovered that she was homesick, so she went to
Mother Holle and said:

‘I know I am a thousand times better off here than I ever was in my
life before, but notwithstanding, I have a great longing to go home, in
spite of all your kindness to me. I can remain with you no longer, but
must return to my own people.’

‘Your desire to go home pleases me,’ said Mother Holle, ‘and because
you have served me so faithfully, I will show you the way back into the
world myself.’

So she took her by the hand and led her to an open door, and as the
girl passed through it there fell a heavy shower of gold all over her,
till she was covered with it from top to toe.

‘That’s a reward for being such a good little maid,’ said Mother Holle,
and she gave her the spindle too that had fallen into the well. Then
she shut the door, and the girl found herself back in the world again,
not far from her own house; and when she came to the courtyard the old
hen, who sat on the top of the wall, called out:

‘Click, clock, clack,
Our golden maid’s come back.’


Then she went in to her stepmother, and as she had returned covered
with gold she was welcomed home.

She proceeded to tell all that had happened to her, and when the mother
heard how she had come by her riches, she was most anxious to secure
the same luck for her own idle, ugly daughter; so she told her to sit
at the well and spin. In order to make her spindle bloody, she stuck
her hand into a hedge of thorns and pricked her finger. Then she threw
the spindle into the well, and jumped in herself after it. Like her
sister she came to the beautiful meadow, and followed the same path.
When she reached the baker’s oven the bread called out as before:

‘Oh! take me out, take me out, or I shall be burnt to a cinder. I am
quite done enough.’

But the good-for-nothing girl answered:

‘A pretty joke, indeed; just as if I should dirty my hands for you!’

And on she went. Soon she came to the apple tree, which cried:

‘Oh! shake me, shake me, my apples are all quite ripe.’

‘I’ll see myself farther,’ she replied, ‘one of them might fall on my
head.’

And so she pursued her way. When she came to Mother Holle’s house she
wasn’t the least afraid, for she had been warned about her big teeth,
and she readily agreed to become her maid. The first day she worked
very hard, and did all her mistress told her, for she thought of the
gold she would give her; but on the second day she began to be lazy,
and on the third she wouldn’t even get up in the morning. She didn’t
make Mother Holle’s bed as she ought to have done, and never shook it
enough to make the feathers fly. So her mistress soon grew weary of
her, and dismissed her, much to the lazy creature’s delight.

‘For now,’ she thought, ‘the shower of golden rain will come.’

Mother Holle led her to the same door as she had done her sister, but
when she passed through it, instead of the gold rain a kettle full of
pitch came showering over her.

‘That’s a reward for your service,’ said Mother Holle, and she closed
the door behind her.

So the lazy girl came home all covered with pitch, and when the old hen
on the top of the wall saw her, it called out:

‘Click, clock, clack,
Our dirty slut’s come back.’


But the pitch remained sticking to her, and never as long as she lived
could it be got off.[26]

 [26] Grimm.




MINNIKIN


There was once upon a time a couple of needy folk who lived in a
wretched hut, in which there was nothing but black want; so they had
neither food to eat nor wood to burn. But if they had next to nothing
of all else they had the blessing of God so far as children were
concerned, and every year brought them one more. The man was not
overpleased at this. He was always going about grumbling and growling,
and saying that it seemed to him that there might be such a thing as
having too many of these good gifts; so shortly before another baby was
born he went away into the wood for some firewood, saying that he did
not want to see the new child; he would hear him quite soon enough when
he began to squall for some food.

As soon as this baby was born it began to look about the room. ‘Ah, my
dear mother!’ said he, ‘give me some of my brothers’ old clothes, and
food enough for a few days, and I will go out into the world and seek
my fortune, for, so far as I can see, you have children enough.’

‘Heaven help thee, my son!’ said the mother, ‘that will never do; thou
art still far too little.’

But the little creature was determined to do it, and begged and prayed
so long that the mother was forced to let him have some old rags, and
tie up a little food for him, and then gaily and happily he went out
into the world.

But almost before he was out of the house another boy was born, and he
too looked about him, and said, ‘Ah, my dear mother! give me some of my
brothers’ old clothes, and food for some days, and then I will go out
into the world and find my twin brother, for you have children enough.’

‘Heaven help thee, little creature! thou art far too little for that,’
said the woman; ‘it would never do.’

But she spoke to no purpose, for the boy begged and prayed until he had
got some old rags and a bundle of provisions, and then he set out
manfully into the world to find his twin brother.

When the younger had walked for some time he caught sight of his
brother a short distance in front of him, and called to him and bade
him to stop.

‘Wait a minute,’ he said; ‘you are walking as if for a wager, but you
ought to have stayed to see your younger brother before you hurried off
into the world.’

So the elder stood still and looked back, and when the younger had got
up to him, and had told him that he was his brother, he said: ‘But now,
let us sit down and see what kind of food our mother has given us,’ and
that they did.

When they had walked on a little farther they came to a brook which ran
through a green meadow, and there the younger said that they ought to
christen each other. ‘As we had to make such haste, and had no time to
do it at home, we may as well do it here,’ said he.

‘What will you be called?’ asked the elder.

‘I will be called Minnikin,’ answered the second; ‘and you, what will
you be called?’

‘I will be called King Pippin,’ answered the elder.

They christened each other and then went onwards. When they had walked
for some time they came to a crossway, and there they agreed to part,
and each take his own road. This they did, but no sooner had they
walked a short distance than they met again. So they parted once more,
and each took his own road, but in a very short time the same thing
happened again—they met each other before they were at all aware, and
so it happened the third time also. Then they arranged with each other
that each should choose his own quarter, and one should go east and the
other west.

‘But if ever you fall into any need or trouble,’ said the elder, ‘call
me thrice, and I will come and help you; only you must not call me
until you are in the utmost need.’

‘In that case we shall not see each other for some time,’ said
Minnikin; so they bade farewell to each other, and Minnikin went east
and King Pippin went west.

When Minnikin had walked a long way alone, he met an old, old
crook-backed hag, who had only one eye. Minnikin stole it.

‘Oh! oh!’ cried the old hag, ‘what has become of my eye?’

‘What will you give me to get your eye back?’ said Minnikin.

‘I will give thee a sword which is such a sword that it can conquer a
whole army, let it be ever so great,’ replied the woman.

‘Let me have it, then,’ said Minnikin.

The old hag gave him the sword, so she got her eye back. Then Minnikin
went onwards, and when he had wandered on for some time he again met an
old, old crook-backed hag, who had only one eye. Minnikin stole it
before she was aware.

‘Oh! oh! what has become of my eye?’ cried the old hag.

‘What will you give me to get your eye back?’ said Minnikin.

‘I will give thee a ship which can sail over fresh water and salt
water, over high hills and deep dales,’ answered the old woman.

‘Let me have it then,’ said Minnikin.

So the old woman gave him a little bit of a ship which was no bigger
than he could put in his pocket, and then she got her eye back, and she
went her way and Minnikin his. When he had walked on for a long time,
he met for the third time an old, old crook-backed hag, who had only
one eye. This eye also Minnikin stole, and when the woman screamed and
lamented, and asked what had become of her eye, Minnikin said, ‘What
will you give me to get your eye back?’

‘I will give thee the art to brew a hundred lasts of malt in one
brewing.’

So, for teaching that art, the old hag got her eye back, and they both
went away by different roads.

But when Minnikin had walked a short distance, it seemed to him that it
might be worth while to see what his ship could do; so he took it out
of his pocket, and first he put one foot into it, and then the other,
and no sooner had he put one foot into the ship than it became much
larger, and when he set the other foot into it, it grew as large as
ships that sail on the sea.

Then Minnikin said: ‘Now go over fresh water and salt water, over high
hills and deep dales, and do not stop until thou comest to the King’s
palace.’

And in an instant the ship went away as swiftly as any bird in the air
till it got just below the King’s palace, and there it stood still.

From the windows of the King’s palace many persons had seen Minnikin
come sailing thither, and had stood to watch him; and they were all so
astounded that they ran down to see what manner of man this could be
who came sailing in a ship through the air. But while they were running
down from the King’s palace, Minnikin had got out of the ship and had
put it in his pocket again; for the moment he got out of it, it once
more became as small as it had been when he got it from the old woman,
and those who came from the King’s palace could see nothing but a
ragged little boy who was standing down by the sea-shore. The King
asked where he had come from, but the boy said he did not know, nor yet
could he tell them how he had got there, but he begged very earnestly
and prettily for a place in the King’s palace. If there was nothing
else for him to do, he said he would fetch wood and water for the
kitchen-maid, and that he obtained leave to do.

When Minnikin went up to the King’s palace he saw that everything there
was hung with black both outside and inside, from the bottom to the
top; so he asked the kitchen-maid what that meant.

‘Oh, I will tell you that,’ answered the kitchen-maid. ‘The King’s
daughter was long ago promised away to three Trolls, and next Thursday
evening one of them is to come to fetch her. Ritter Red has said that
he will be able to set her free, but who knows whether he will be able
to do it? so you may easily imagine what grief and distress we are in
here.’

So when Thursday evening came, Ritter Red accompanied the Princess to
the sea-shore; for there she was to meet the Troll, and Ritter Red was
to stay with her and protect her. He, however, was very unlikely to do
the Troll much injury, for no sooner had the Princess seated herself by
the sea-shore than Ritter Red climbed up into a great tree which was
standing there, and hid himself as well as he could among the branches.

The Princess wept, and begged him most earnestly not to go and leave
her; but Ritter Red did not concern himself about that. ‘It is better
that one should die than two,’ said he.

In the meantime Minnikin begged the kitchen-maid very prettily to give
him leave to go down to the strand for a short time.

‘Oh, what could you do down at the strand?’ said the kitchen-maid. ‘You
have nothing to do there.’

‘Oh yes, my dear, just let me go,’ said Minnikin. ‘I should so like to
go and amuse myself with the other children.’

‘Well, well, go then!’ said the kitchen-maid, ‘but don’t let me find
you staying there over the time when the pan has to be set on the fire
for supper, and the roast put on the spit; and mind you bring back a
good big armful of wood for the kitchen.’

Minnikin promised this, and ran down to the sea-shore.

Just as he got to the place where the King’s daughter was sitting, the
Troll came rushing up with a great whistling and whirring, and he was
so big and stout that he was terrible to see, and he had five heads.

‘Fire!’ screeched the Troll.

‘Fire yourself!’ said Minnikin.

‘Can you fight?’ roared the Troll.

‘If not, I can learn,’ said Minnikin.

So the Troll struck at him with a great thick iron bar which he had in
his fist, till the sods flew five yards up into the air.

‘Fie!’ said Minnikin. ‘That was not much of a blow. Now you shall see
one of mine.’

So he grasped the sword which he had got from the old crook-backed
woman, and slashed at the Troll so that all five heads went flying away
over the sands.

When the Princess saw that she was delivered she was so delighted that
she did not know what she was doing, and skipped and danced.

‘Come and sleep a bit with your head in my lap,’ she said to Minnikin,
and as he slept she put a golden dress on him.

But when Ritter Red saw that there was no longer any danger afoot, he
lost no time in creeping down from the tree. He then threatened the
Princess, until at length she was forced to promise to say that it was
he who had rescued her, for he told her that if she did not he would
kill her. Then he took the Troll’s lungs and tongue and put them in his
pocket-handkerchief, and led the Princess back to the King’s palace;
and whatsoever had been lacking to him in the way of honour before was
lacking no longer, for the King did not know how to exalt him enough,
and always set him on his own right hand at table.

As for Minnikin, first he went out on the Troll’s ship and took a great
quantity of gold and silver hoops away with him, and then he trotted
back to the King’s palace.

When the kitchen-maid caught sight of all this gold and silver she was
quite amazed, and said: ‘My dear friend Minnikin, where have you got
all that from?’ for she was half afraid that he had not come by it
honestly.

‘Oh,’ answered Minnikin, ‘I have been home a while, and these hoops had
fallen off some of our buckets, so I brought them away with me for
you.’

So when the kitchen-maid heard that they were for her, she asked no
more questions about the matter. She thanked Minnikin, and everything
was right again at once.

Next Thursday evening all went just the same, and everyone was full of
grief and affliction, but Ritter Red said that he had been able to
deliver the King’s daughter from one Troll, so that he could very
easily deliver her from another, and he led her down to the sea-shore.
But he did not do much harm to this Troll either, for when the time
came when the Troll might be expected, he said as he had said before:
‘It is better that one should die than two,’ and then climbed up into
the tree again.

Minnikin once more begged the cook’s leave to go down to the sea-shore
for a short time.

‘Oh, what can you do there?’ said the cook.

‘My dear, do let me go!’ said Minnikin; ‘I should so like to go down
there and amuse myself a little with the other children.’

So this time also she said that he should have leave to go, but he must
first promise that he would be back by the time the joint was turned
and that he would bring a great armful of wood with him.

No sooner had Minnikin got down to the strand than the Troll came
rushing along with a great whistling and whirring, and he was twice as
big as the first Troll, and he had ten heads.

‘Fire!’ shrieked the Troll.

‘Fire yourself!’ said Minnikin.

‘Can you fight?’ roared the Troll.

‘If not, I can learn,’ said Minnikin.

So the Troll struck at him with his iron club—which was still bigger
than that which the first Troll had had—so that the earth flew ten
yards up in the air.

‘Fie!’ said Minnikin. ‘That was not much of a blow. Now you shall see
one of my blows.’

Then he grasped his sword and struck at the Troll, so that all his ten
heads danced away over the sands.

And again the King’s daughter said to him, ‘Sleep a while on my lap,’
and while Minnikin lay there she drew some silver raiment over him.

As soon as Ritter Red saw that there was no longer any danger afoot, he
crept down from the tree and threatened the Princess, until at last she
was again forced to promise to say that it was he who had rescued her;
after which he took the tongue and the lungs of the Troll and put them
in his pocket-handkerchief, and then he conducted the Princess back to
the palace. There was joy and gladness in the palace, as may be
imagined, and the King did not know how to show enough honour and
respect to Ritter Red.

Minnikin, however, took home with him an armful of gold and silver
hoops from the Troll’s ship. When he came back to the King’s palace the
kitchen-maid clapped her hands and wondered where he could have got all
that gold and silver; but Minnikin answered that he had been home for a
short time, and that it was only the hoops which had fallen off some
pails, and that he had brought them away for the kitchen-maid.

When the third Thursday evening came, everything happened exactly as it
had happened on the two former occasions. Everything in the King’s
palace was hung with black, and everyone was sorrowful and distressed;
but Ritter Red said that he did not think that they had much reason to
be afraid—he had delivered the King’s daughter from two Trolls, so he
could easily deliver her from the third as well.

He led her down to the strand, but when the time drew near for the
Troll to come, he climbed up into the tree again and hid himself.

The Princess wept and entreated him to stay, but all to no purpose. He
stuck to his old speech, ‘It is better that one life should be lost
than two.’

This evening also, Minnikin begged for leave to go down to the
sea-shore.

‘Oh, what can you do there?’ answered the kitchen-maid.

However, he begged until at last he got leave to go, but he was forced
to promise that he would be back again in the kitchen when the roast
had to be turned.

Almost immediately after he had got down to the sea-shore the Troll
came with a great whizzing and whirring, and he was much, much bigger
than either of the two former ones, and he had fifteen heads.

‘Fire!’ roared the Troll.

‘Fire yourself!’ said Minnikin.

‘Can you fight?’ screamed the Troll.

‘If not, I can learn,’ said Minnikin.

‘I will teach you,’ yelled the Troll, and struck at him with his iron
club so that the earth flew up fifteen yards high into the air.

‘Fie!’ said Minnikin. ‘That was not much of a blow. Now I will let you
see one of my blows.’

So saying he grasped his sword, and cut at the Troll in such a way that
all his fifteen heads danced away over the sands.

Then the Princess was delivered, and she thanked Minnikin and blessed
him for saving her.

‘Sleep a while now on my lap,’ said she, and while he lay there she put
a garment of brass upon him.

‘But now, how shall we have it made known that it was you who saved
me?’ said the King’s daughter.

‘That I will tell you,’ answered Minnikin. ‘When Ritter Red has taken
you home again, and given out that it was he who rescued you, he will,
as you know, have you to wife, and half the kingdom. But when they ask
you on your wedding-day whom you will have to be your cup-bearer, you
must say, “I will have the ragged boy who is in the kitchen, and
carries wood and water for the kitchen-maid;” and when I am filling
your cups for you, I will spill a drop upon his plate but none upon
yours, and then he will be angry and strike me, and this will take
place thrice. But the third time you must say, “Shame on you thus to
smite the beloved of mine heart. It is he who delivered me from the
Troll, and he is the one whom I will have.”’

Then Minnikin ran back to the King’s palace as he had done before, but
first he went on board the Troll’s ship and took a great quantity of
gold and silver and other precious things, and out of these he once
more gave to the kitchen-maid a whole armful of gold and silver hoops.

No sooner did Ritter Red see that all danger was over than he crept
down from the tree, and threatened the King’s daughter till he made her
promise to say that he had rescued her. Then he conducted her back to
the King’s palace, and if honour enough had not been done him before it
was certainly done now, for the King had no other thought than how to
make much of the man who had saved his daughter from the three Trolls;
and it was settled then that Ritter Red should marry her, and receive
half the kingdom.

On the wedding-day, however, the Princess begged that she might have
the little boy who was in the kitchen, and carried wood and water for
the kitchen-maid, to fill the wine-cups at the wedding feast.

‘Oh, what can you want with that dirty, ragged boy, in here?’ said
Ritter Red, but the Princess said that she insisted on having him as
cup-bearer and would have no one else; and at last she got leave, and
then everything was done as had been agreed on between the Princess and
Minnikin. He spilt a drop on Ritter Red’s plate but none upon hers, and
each time that he did it Ritter Red fell into a rage and struck him. At
the first blow all the ragged garments which he had worn in the kitchen
fell from off Minnikin, at the second blow the brass garments fell off,
and at the third the silver raiment, and there he stood in the golden
raiment, which was so bright and splendid that light flashed from it.

Then the King’s daughter said: ‘Shame on you thus to smite the beloved
of my heart. It is he who delivered me from the Troll, and he is the
one whom I will have.’

Ritter Red swore that he was the man who had saved her, but the King
said: ‘He who delivered my daughter must have some token in proof of
it.’

So Ritter Red ran off at once for his handkerchief with the lungs and
tongue, and Minnikin went and brought all the gold and silver and
precious things which he had taken out of the Trolls’ ships; and they
each of them laid these tokens before the King.

‘He who has such precious things in gold and silver and diamonds,’ said
the King, ‘must be the one who killed the Troll, for such things are
not to be had anywhere else.’ So Ritter Red was thrown into the
snake-pit, and Minnikin was to have the Princess, and half the kingdom.

One day the King went out walking with Minnikin, and Minnikin asked him
if he had never had any other children.

‘Yes,’ said the King, ‘I had another daughter, but the Troll carried
her away because there was no one who could deliver her. You are going
to have one daughter of mine, but if you can set free the other, who
has been taken by the Troll, you shall willingly have her too, and the
other half of the kingdom as well.’

‘I may as well make the attempt,’ said Minnikin, ‘but I must have an
iron rope which is five hundred ells long, and then I must have five
hundred men with me, and provisions for five weeks, for I have a long
voyage before me.’

So the King said he should have these things, but the King was afraid
that he had no ship large enough to carry them all.

‘But I have a ship of my own,’ said Minnikin, and he took the one which
the old woman had given him out of his pocket. The King laughed at him
and thought that it was only one of his jokes, but Minnikin begged him
just to give him what he had asked for, and then he should see
something. Then all that Minnikin had asked for was brought; and first
he ordered them to lay the cable in the ship, but there was no one who
was able to lift it, and there was only room for one or two men at a
time in the little bit of a ship. Then Minnikin himself took hold of
the cable, and laid one or two links of it into the ship, and as he
threw the links into it the ship grew bigger and bigger, and at last it
was so large that the cable, and the five hundred men, and provisions,
and Minnikin himself, had room enough.

‘Now go over fresh water and salt water, over hill and dale, and do not
stop until thou comest to where the King’s daughter is,’ said Minnikin
to the ship, and off it went in a moment over land and water till the
wind whistled and moaned all round about it.

When they had sailed thus a long, long way, the ship stopped short in
the middle of the sea.

‘Ah, now we have got there,’ said Minnikin, ‘but how we are to get back
again is a very different thing.’

Then he took the cable and tied one end of it round his body. ‘Now I
must go to the bottom,’ he said, ‘but when I give a good jerk to the
cable and want to come up again, you must all pull like one man, or
there will be an end of all life both for you and for me.’ So saying he
sprang into the water, and yellow bubbles rose up all around him. He
sank lower and lower, and at last he came to the bottom. There he saw a
large hill with a door in it, and in he went. When he had got inside he
found the other Princess sitting sewing, but when she saw Minnikin she
clapped her hands.

‘Ah, heaven be praised!’ she cried, ‘I have not seen a Christian man
since I came here.’

‘I have come for you,’ said Minnikin.

‘Alas! you will not be able to get me,’ said the King’s daughter. ‘It
is no use even to think of that; if the Troll catches sight of you he
will take your life.’

‘You had better tell me about him,’ said Minnikin. ‘Where is he gone?
It would be amusing to see him.’

So the King’s daughter told Minnikin that the Troll was out trying to
get hold of someone who could brew a hundred lasts of malt at one
brewing, for there was to be a feast at the Troll’s, at which less than
that would not be drunk.

‘I can do that,’ said Minnikin.

‘Ah! if only the Troll were not so quick-tempered I might have told him
that,’ answered the Princess, ‘but he is so ill-natured that he will
tear you to pieces, I fear, as soon as he comes in. But I will try to
find some way of doing it. Can you hide yourself here in the cupboard?
and then we will see what happens.’

Minnikin did this, and almost before he had crept into the cupboard and
hidden himself, came the Troll.

‘Huf! What a smell of Christian man’s blood!’ said the Troll.

‘Yes, a bird flew over the roof with a Christian man’s bone in his
bill, and let it fall down our chimney,’ answered the Princess. ‘I made
haste enough to get it away again, but it must be that which smells so,
notwithstanding.’

‘Yes, it must be that,’ said the Troll.

Then the Princess asked if he had got hold of anyone who could brew a
hundred lasts of malt at one brewing.

‘No, there is no one who can do it,’ said the Troll.

‘A short time since there was a man here who said he could do it,’ said
the King’s daughter.

‘How clever you always are!’ said the Troll. ‘How could you let him go
away? You must have known that I was just wanting a man of that kind.’

‘Well, but I didn’t let him go, after all,’ said the Princess; ‘but
father is so quick-tempered, so I hid him in the cupboard, but if
father has not found any one then the man is still here.’

‘Let him come in,’ said the Troll.

When Minnikin came, the Troll asked if it were true that he could brew
a hundred lasts of malt at one brewing.

‘Yes,’ said Minnikin, ‘it is.’

‘It is well then that I have lighted on thee,’ said the Troll. ‘Fall to
work this very minute, but Heaven help thee if thou dost not brew the
ale strong.’

‘Oh, it shall taste well,’ said Minnikin, and at once set himself to
work to brew.

‘But I must have more trolls to help to carry what is wanted,’ said
Minnikin; ‘these that I have are good for nothing.’

So he got more and so many that there was a swarm of them, and then the
brewing went on. When the sweet-wort was ready they were all, as a
matter of course, anxious to taste it, first the Troll himself and then
the others; but Minnikin had brewed the wort so strong that they all
fell down dead like so many flies as soon as they had drunk any of it.
At last there was no one left but one wretched old hag who was lying
behind the stove.

‘Oh, poor old creature!’ said Minnikin, ‘you shall have a taste of the
wort too like the rest.’ So he went away and scooped up a little from
the bottom of the brewing vat in a milk pan, and gave it to her, and
then he was quit of the whole of them.

While Minnikin was now standing there looking about him, he cast his
eye on a large chest. This he took and filled it with gold and silver,
and then he tied the cable round himself and the Princess and the
chest, and tugged at the rope with all his might, whereupon his men
drew them up safe and sound.

As soon as Minnikin had got safely on his ship again, he said: ‘Now go
over salt water and fresh water, over hill and dale, and do not stop
until thou comest unto the King’s palace.’ And in a moment the ship
went off so fast that the yellow foam rose up all round about it.

When those who were in the King’s palace saw the ship, they lost no
time in going to meet him with song and music, and thus they marched up
towards Minnikin with great rejoicings; but the gladdest of all was the
King, for now he had got his other daughter back again.

But now Minnikin was not happy, for both the Princesses wanted to have
him, and he wanted to have none other than the one whom he had first
saved, and she was the younger. For this cause he was continually
walking backwards and forwards, thinking how he could contrive to get
her, and yet do nothing that was unkind to her sister. One day when he
was walking about and thinking of this, it came into his mind that if
he only had his brother, King Pippin, with him, who was so like himself
that no one could distinguish the one from the other, he could let him
have the elder Princess and half the kingdom; as for himself, he
thought, the other half was quite enough. As soon as this thought
occurred to him he went outside the palace and called for King Pippin,
but no one came. So he called a second time, and a little louder, but
no! still no one came. So Minnikin called for the third time, and with
all his might, and there stood his brother by his side.

‘I told you that you were not to call me unless you were in the utmost
need,’ he said to Minnikin, ‘and there is not even so much as a midge
here who can do you any harm!’ and with that he gave Minnikin such a
blow that he rolled over on the grass.

‘Shame on you to strike me!’ said Minnikin. ‘First have I won one
Princess and half the kingdom, and then the other Princess and the
other half of the kingdom; and now, when I was just thinking that I
would give you one of the Princesses and one of the halves of the
kingdom, do you think you have any reason to give me such a blow?’

When King Pippin heard that he begged his brother’s pardon, and they
were reconciled at once and became good friends.

‘Now, as you know,’ said Minnikin, ‘we are so like each other that no
one can tell one of us from the other; so just change clothes with me
and go up to the palace, and then the Princesses will think that I am
coming in, and the one who kisses you first shall be yours, and I will
have the other.’ For he knew that the elder Princess was the stronger,
so he could very well guess how things would go.

King Pippin at once agreed to this. He changed clothes with his
brother, and went into the palace. When he entered the Princess’s
apartments they believed that he was Minnikin, and both of them ran up
to him at once; but the elder, who was bigger and stronger, pushed her
sister aside, and threw her arms round King Pippin’s neck and kissed
him; so he got her to wife, and Minnikin the younger sister. It will be
easy to understand that two weddings took place, and they were so
magnificent that they were heard of and talked about all over seven
kingdoms.[27]

 [27] From J. Moe.




BUSHY BRIDE


There was once on a time a widower who had a son and a daughter by his
first wife. They were both good children, and loved each other with all
their hearts. After some time had gone by the man married again, and he
chose a widow with one daughter who was ugly and wicked, and her mother
was ugly and wicked too. From the very day that the new wife came into
the house there was no peace for the man’s children, and not a corner
to be found where they could get any rest; so the boy thought that the
best thing he could do was to go out into the world and try to earn his
own bread.

When he had roamed about for some time he came to the King’s palace,
where he obtained a place under the coachman; and very brisk and active
he was, and the horses that he looked after were so fat and sleek, that
they shone again.

But his sister, who was still at home, fared worse and worse. Both her
step-mother and her step-sister were always finding fault with her,
whatsoever she did and whithersoever she went, and they scolded her and
abused her so that she never had an hour’s peace. They made her do all
the hard work, and hard words fell to her lot early and late, but
little enough food accompanied them.

One day they sent her to the brook to fetch some water home, and an
ugly and horrible head rose up out of the water, and said, ‘Wash me,
girl!’

‘Yes, I will wash you with pleasure,’ said the girl, and began to wash
and scrub the ugly face, but she couldn’t help thinking that it was a
very unpleasant piece of work. When she had done it, and done it well,
another head rose up out of the water, and this one was uglier still.

‘Brush me, girl!’ said the head.

‘Yes, I will brush you with pleasure,’ said the girl, and set to work
with the tangled hair, and, as may be easily imagined, this too was by
no means pleasant work.

When she had got it done, another and a much more ugly and
horrible-looking head rose up out of the water.

‘Kiss me, girl!’ said the head.

‘Yes, I will kiss you,’ said the man’s daughter, and she did it, but
she thought it was the worst bit of work that she had ever had to do in
her life.

So the heads all began to talk to each other, and to ask what they
should do for this girl who was so full of kindliness.

‘She shall be the prettiest girl that ever was, and fair and bright as
the day,’ said the first head.

‘Gold shall drop from her hair whenever she brushes it,’ said the
second.

‘Gold shall drop from her mouth whenever she speaks,’ said the third
head.

So when the man’s daughter went home, looking as beautiful and bright
as day, the step-mother and her daughter grew much more ill-tempered,
and it was worse still when she began to talk, and they saw that golden
coins dropped from her mouth. The step-mother fell into such a towering
passion that she drove the man’s daughter into the pig-stye—she might
stay there with her fine show of gold, the step-mother said, but she
should not be permitted to set foot in the house.

It was not long before the mother wanted her own daughter to go to the
stream to fetch some water.

When she got there with her pails, the first head rose up out of the
water close to the bank. ‘Wash me, girl!’ it said.

‘Wash yourself!’ answered the woman’s daughter.

Then the second head appeared.

‘Brush me, girl!’ said the head.

‘Brush yourself!’ said the woman’s daughter.

So down it went to the bottom, and the third head came up.

‘Kiss me, girl!’ said the head.

‘As if I would kiss your ugly mouth!’ said the girl.

So again the heads talked together about what they should do for this
girl who was so ill-tempered and full of her own importance, and they
agreed that she should have a nose that was four ells long, and a jaw
that was three ells, and a fir bush in the middle of her forehead, and
every time she spoke ashes should fall from her mouth.

When she came back to the cottage door with her pails, she called to
her mother who was inside, ‘Open the door!’

‘Open the door yourself, my own dear child!’ said the mother.

‘I can’t get near, because of my nose,’ said the daughter.

When the mother came and saw her you may imagine what a state of mind
she was in, and how she screamed and lamented, but neither the nose nor
the jaw grew any the less for that.

Now the brother, who was in service in the King’s palace, had taken a
portrait of his sister, and he had carried the picture away with him,
and every morning and evening he knelt down before it and prayed for
his sister, so dearly did he love her.

The other stable-boys had heard him doing this, so they peeped through
the key-hole into his room, and saw that he was kneeling there before a
picture; so they told everyone that every morning and evening the youth
knelt down and prayed to an idol which he had; and at last they went to
the King himself, and begged that he too would peep through the
key-hole, and see for himself what the youth did. At first the King
would not believe this, but after a long, long time, they prevailed
with him, and he crept on tip-toe to the door, peeped through, and saw
the youth on his knees, with his hands clasped together before a
picture which was hanging on the wall.

‘Open the door!’ cried the King, but the youth did not hear.

So the King called to him again, but the youth was praying so fervently
that he did not hear him this time either.

‘Open the door, I say!’ cried the King again. ‘It is I! I want to come
in.’

So the youth sprang to the door and unlocked it, but in his haste he
forgot to hide the picture.

When the King entered and saw it, he stood still as if he were in
fetters, and could not stir from the spot, for the picture seemed to
him so beautiful.

‘There is nowhere on earth so beautiful a woman as this!’ said the
King.

But the youth told him that she was his sister, and that he had painted
her, and that if she was not prettier than the picture she was at all
events not uglier.

‘Well, if she is as beautiful as that, I will have her for my Queen,’
said the King, and he commanded the youth to go home and fetch her
without a moment’s delay, and to lose no time in coming back. The youth
promised to make all the haste he could, and set forth from the King’s
palace.

When the brother arrived at home to fetch his sister, her stepmother
and step-sister would go too. So they all set out together, and the
man’s daughter took with her a casket in which she kept her gold, and a
dog which was called Little Snow. These two things were all that she
had inherited from her mother. When they had travelled for some time
they had to cross the sea, and the brother sat down at the helm, and
the mother and the two half-sisters went to the fore-part of the
vessel, and they sailed a long, long way. At last they came in sight of
land.

‘Look at that white strand there; that is where we shall land,’ said
the brother, pointing across the sea.

‘What is my brother saying?’ inquired the man’s daughter.

‘He says that you are to throw your casket out into the sea,’ answered
the step-mother.

‘Well, if my brother says so, I must do it,’ said the man’s daughter,
and she flung her casket into the sea.

When they had sailed for some time longer, the brother once more
pointed over the sea. ‘There you may see the palace to which we are
bound,’ said he.

‘What is my brother saying?’ asked the man’s daughter.

‘Now he says that you are to throw your dog into the sea,’ answered the
step-mother.

The man’s daughter wept, and was sorely troubled, for Little Snow was
the dearest thing she had on earth, but at last she threw him
overboard.

‘If my brother says that, I must do it, but Heaven knows how unwilling
I am to throw thee out, Little Snow!’ said she.

So they sailed onwards a long way farther.

‘There may’st thou see the King coming out to meet thee,’ said the
brother, pointing to the sea-shore.

‘What is my brother saying?’ asked his sister again.

‘Now he says that you are to make haste and throw yourself overboard,’
answered the step-mother.

She wept and she wailed, but as her brother had said that, she thought
she must do it; so she leaped into the sea.

But when they arrived at the palace, and the King beheld the ugly bride
with a nose that was four ells long, a jaw that was three ells, and a
forehead that had a bush in the middle of it, he was quite terrified;
but the wedding feast was all prepared, as regarded brewing and baking,
and all the wedding guests were sitting waiting, so, ugly as she was,
the King was forced to take her.

But he was very wroth, and none can blame him for that; so he caused
the brother to be thrown into a pit full of snakes.

On the first Thursday night after this, a beautiful maiden came into
the kitchen of the palace, and begged the kitchen-maid, who slept
there, to lend her a brush. She begged very prettily, and got it, and
then she brushed her hair, and the gold dropped from it.

A little dog was with her, and she said to it, ‘Go out, Little Snow,
and see if it will soon be day!’

This she said thrice, and the third time that she sent out the dog to
see, it was very near dawn. Then she was forced to depart, but as she
went she said:

‘Out on thee, ugly Bushy Bride,
Sleeping so soft by the young King’s side,
On sand and stones my bed I make,
And my brother sleeps with the cold snake,
        Unpitied and unwept.’


I shall come twice more, and then never again,’ said she.

In the morning the kitchen-maid related what she had seen and heard,
and the King said that next Thursday night he himself would watch in
the kitchen and see if this were true, and when it had begun to grow
dark he went out into the kitchen to the girl. But though he rubbed his
eyes and did everything he could to keep himself awake it was all in
vain, for the Bushy Bride crooned and sang till his eyes were fast
closed, and when the beautiful young maiden came he was sound asleep
and snoring.

This time also, as before, she borrowed a brush and brushed her hair
with it, and the gold dropped down as she did it; and again she sent
the dog out three times, and when day dawned she departed, but as she
was going she said as she had said before, ‘I shall come once more, and
then never again.’

On the third Thursday night the King once more insisted on keeping
watch. Then he set two men to hold him; each of them was to take an
arm, and shake him and jerk him by the arm whenever he seemed to be
going to fall asleep; and he set two men to watch his Bushy Bride. But
as the night wore on the Bushy Bride again began to croon and to sing,
so that his eyes began to close and his head to droop on one side. Then
came the lovely maiden, and got the brush and brushed her hair till the
gold dropped from it, and then she sent her Little Snow out to see if
it would soon be day, and this she did three times. The third time it
was just beginning to grow light, and then she said:

‘Out on thee, ugly Bushy Bride,
Sleeping so soft by the young King’s side,
On sand and stones my bed I make,
And my brother sleeps with the cold snake,
        Unpitied and unwept.’


‘Now I shall never come again,’ she said, and then she turned to go.
But the two men who were holding the King by the arms seized his hands
and forced a knife into his grasp, and then made him cut her little
finger just enough to make it bleed.

Thus the true bride was freed. The King then awoke, and she told him
all that had taken place, and how her step-mother and step-sister had
betrayed her. Then the brother was at once taken out of the
snake-pit—the snakes had never touched him—and the step-mother and
step-sister were flung down into it instead of him.

No one can tell how delighted the King was to get rid of that hideous
Bushy Bride, and get a Queen who was bright and beautiful as day
itself.

And now the real wedding was held, and held in such a way that it was
heard of and spoken about all over seven kingdoms. The King and his
bride drove to church, and Little Snow was in the carriage too. When
the blessing was given they went home again, and after that I saw no
more of them.[28]

 [28] From J. Moe.




SNOWDROP


Once upon a time, in the middle of winter when the snow-flakes were
falling like feathers on the earth, a Queen sat at a window framed in
black ebony and sewed. And as she sewed and gazed out to the white
landscape, she pricked her finger with the needle, and three drops of
blood fell on the snow outside, and because the red showed out so well
against the white she thought to herself:

‘Oh! what wouldn’t I give to have a child as white as snow, as red as
blood, and as black as ebony!’

And her wish was granted, for not long after a little daughter was born
to her, with a skin as white as snow, lips and cheeks as red as blood,
and hair as black as ebony. They called her Snowdrop, and not long
after her birth the Queen died.

After a year the King married again. His new wife was a beautiful
woman, but so proud and overbearing that she couldn’t stand any rival
to her beauty. She possessed a magic mirror, and when she used to stand
before it gazing at her own reflection and ask:

‘Mirror, mirror, hanging there,
Who in all the land’s most fair?’


it always replied:

‘You are most fair, my Lady Queen,
None fairer in the land, I ween.’


Then she was quite happy, for she knew the mirror always spoke the
truth.

But Snowdrop was growing prettier and prettier every day, and when she
was seven years old she was as beautiful as she could be, and fairer
even than the Queen herself. One day when the latter asked her mirror
the usual question, it replied:

‘My Lady Queen, you are fair, ‘tis true,
But Snowdrop is fairer far than you.’


Then the Queen flew into the most awful passion, and turned every shade
of green in her jealousy. From this hour she hated poor Snowdrop like
poison, and every day her envy, hatred, and malice grew, for envy and
jealousy are like evil weeds which spring up and choke the heart. At
last she could endure Snowdrop’s presence no longer, and, calling a
huntsman to her, she said:

‘Take the child out into the wood, and never let me see her face again.
You must kill her, and bring me back her lungs and liver, that I may
know for certain she is dead.’

The Huntsman did as he was told and led Snowdrop out into the wood, but
as he was in the act of drawing out his knife to slay her, she began to
cry, and said:

‘Oh, dear Huntsman, spare my life, and I will promise to fly forth into
the wide wood and never to return home again.’

And because she was so young and pretty the Huntsman had pity on her,
and said:

‘Well, run along, poor child.’ For he thought to himself: ‘The wild
beasts will soon eat her up.’

And his heart felt lighter because he hadn’t had to do the deed
himself. And as he turned away a young boar came running past, so he
shot it, and brought its lungs and liver home to the Queen as a proof
that Snowdrop was really dead. And the wicked woman had them stewed in
salt, and ate them up, thinking she had made an end of Snowdrop for
ever.

Now when the poor child found herself alone in the big wood the very
trees around her seemed to assume strange shapes, and she felt so
frightened she didn’t know what to do. Then she began to run over the
sharp stones, and through the bramble bushes, and the wild beasts ran
past her, but they did her no harm. She ran as far as her legs would
carry her, and as evening approached she saw a little house, and she
stepped inside to rest. Everything was very small in the little house,
but cleaner and neater than anything you can imagine. In the middle of
the room there stood a little table, covered with a white tablecloth,
and seven little plates and forks and spoons and knives and tumblers.
Side by side against the wall there were seven little beds, covered
with snow-white counterpanes. Snowdrop felt so hungry and so thirsty
that she ate a bit of bread and a little porridge from each plate, and
drank a drop of wine out of each tumbler. Then feeling tired and sleepy
she lay down on one of the beds, but it wasn’t comfortable; then she
tried all the others in turn, but one was too long, and another too
short, and it was only when she got to the seventh that she found one
to suit her exactly. So she lay down upon it, said her prayers like a
good child, and fell fast asleep.

When it got quite dark the masters of the little house returned. They
were seven dwarfs who worked in the mines, right down deep in the heart
of the mountain. They lighted their seven little lamps, and as soon as
their eyes got accustomed to the glare they saw that someone had been
in the room, for all was not in the same order as they had left it.

The first said:

‘Who’s been sitting on my little chair?’

The second said:

‘Who’s been eating my little loaf?’

The third said:

‘Who’s been tasting my porridge?’

The fourth said:

‘Who’s been eating out of my little plate?’

The fifth said:

‘Who’s been using my little fork?’

The sixth said:

‘Who’s been cutting with my little knife?’

The seventh said:

‘Who’s been drinking out of my little tumbler?’

Then the first Dwarf looked round and saw a little hollow in his bed,
and he asked again:

‘Who’s been lying on my bed?’

The others came running round, and cried when they saw their beds:

‘Somebody has lain on ours too.’

But when the seventh came to his bed, he started back in amazement, for
there he beheld Snowdrop fast asleep. Then he called the others, who
turned their little lamps full on the bed, and when they saw Snowdrop
lying there they nearly fell down with surprise.

‘Goodness gracious!’ they cried, ‘what a beautiful child!’

And they were so enchanted by her beauty that they did not wake her,
but let her sleep on in the little bed. But the seventh Dwarf slept
with his companions one hour in each bed, and in this way he managed to
pass the night.

In the morning Snowdrop awoke, but when she saw the seven little Dwarfs
she felt very frightened. But they were so friendly and asked her what
her name was in such a kind way, that she replied:

‘I am Snowdrop.’

‘Why did you come to our house?’ continued the Dwarfs.

Then she told them how her stepmother had wished her put to death, and
how the Huntsman had spared her life, and how she had run the whole day
till she had come to their little house. The Dwarfs, when they had
heard her sad story, asked her:

‘Will you stay and keep house for us, cook, make the beds, the washing,
sew and knit? and if you give satisfaction and keep everything neat and
clean, you shall want for nothing.’

‘Yes,’ answered Snowdrop, ‘I will gladly do all you ask.’

And so she took up her abode with them. Every morning the Dwarfs went
into the mountain to dig for gold, and in the evening, when they
returned home, Snowdrop always had their supper ready for them. But
during the day the girl was left quite alone, so the good Dwarfs warned
her, saying:

‘Beware of your step-mother. She will soon find out you are here, and
whatever you do don’t let anyone into the house.’

Now the Queen, after she thought she had eaten Snowdrop’s lungs and
liver, never dreamed but that she was once more the most beautiful
woman in the world; so stepping before her mirror one day she said:

‘Mirror, mirror, hanging there,
Who in all the land’s most fair?’


and the mirror replied:

‘My Lady Queen, you are fair, ‘tis true,
But Snowdrop is fairer far than you.
Snowdrop, who dwells with the seven little men,
Is as fair as you, as fair again.’


When the Queen heard these words she was nearly struck dumb with
horror, for the mirror always spoke the truth, and she knew now that
the Huntsman must have deceived her, and that Snowdrop was still alive.
She pondered day and night how she might destroy her, for as long as
she felt she had a rival in the land her jealous heart left her no
rest. At last she hit upon a plan. She stained her face and dressed
herself up as an old peddler wife, so that she was quite
unrecognisable. In this guise she went over the seven hills till she
came to the house of the seven Dwarfs. There she knocked at the door,
calling out at the same time:

‘Fine wares to sell, fine wares to sell!’

Snowdrop peeped out of the window, and called out:

‘Good-day, mother, what have you to sell?’

‘Good wares, fine wares,’ she answered; ‘laces of every shade and
description,’ and she held one up that was made of some gay coloured
silk.

‘Surely I can let the honest woman in,’ thought Snowdrop; so she
unbarred the door and bought the pretty lace.

‘Good gracious! child,’ said the old woman, ‘what a figure you’ve got.
Come! I’ll lace you up properly for once.’

Snowdrop, suspecting no evil, stood before her and let her lace her
bodice up, but the old woman laced her so quickly and so tightly that
it took Snowdrop’s breath away, and she fell down dead.

‘Now you are no longer the fairest,’ said the wicked old woman, and
then she hastened away.

In the evening the seven Dwarfs came home, and you may think what a
fright they got when they saw their dear Snowdrop lying on the floor,
as still and motionless as a dead person. They lifted her up tenderly,
and when they saw how tightly laced she was they cut the lace in two,
and she began to breathe a little and gradually came back to life. When
the Dwarfs heard what had happened, they said:

‘Depend upon it, the old peddler wife was none other than the old
Queen. In future you must be sure to let no one in, if we are not at
home.’

As soon as the wicked old Queen got home she went straight to her
mirror, and said:

‘Mirror, mirror, hanging there,
Who in all the land’s most fair?’


and the mirror answered as before:

‘My Lady Queen, you are fair, ‘tis true,
But Snowdrop is fairer far than you.
Snowdrop, who dwells with the seven little men,
Is as fair as you, as fair again.’


When she heard this she became as pale as death, because she saw at
once that Snowdrop must be alive again.

‘This time,’ she said to herself, ‘I will think of something that will
make an end of her once and for all.’

And by the witchcraft which she understood so well she made a poisonous
comb; then she dressed herself up and assumed the form of another old
woman. So she went over the seven hills till she reached the house of
the seven Dwarfs, and knocking at the door she called out:

‘Fine wares for sale.’

Snowdrop looked out of the window and said:

‘You must go away, for I may not let anyone in.’

‘But surely you are not forbidden to look out?’ said the old woman, and
she held up the poisonous comb for her to see.

It pleased the girl so much that she let herself be taken in, and
opened the door. When they had settled their bargain the old woman
said:

‘Now I’ll comb your hair properly for you, for once in the way.’

Poor Snowdrop thought no evil, but hardly had the comb touched her hair
than the poison worked and she fell down unconscious.

‘Now, my fine lady, you’re really done for this time,’ said the wicked
woman, and she made her way home as fast as she could.

Fortunately it was now near evening, and the seven Dwarfs returned
home. When they saw Snowdrop lying dead on the ground, they at once
suspected that her wicked step-mother had been at work again; so they
searched till they found the poisonous comb, and the moment they pulled
it out of her head Snowdrop came to herself again, and told them what
had happened. Then they warned her once more to be on her guard, and to
open the door to no one.

As soon as the Queen got home she went straight to her mirror, and
asked:

‘Mirror, mirror, hanging there,
Who in all the land’s most fair?’


and it replied as before:

‘My Lady Queen, you are fair, ‘tis true,
But Snowdrop is fairer far than you.
Snowdrop, who dwells with the seven little men,
Is as fair as you, as fair again.’


When she heard these words she literally trembled and shook with rage.

‘Snowdrop shall die,’ she cried; ‘yes, though it cost me my own life.’

Then she went to a little secret chamber, which no one knew of but
herself, and there she made a poisonous apple. Outwardly it looked
beautiful, white with red cheeks, so that everyone who saw it longed to
eat it, but anyone who might do so would certainly die on the spot.
When the apple was quite finished she stained her face and dressed
herself up as a peasant, and so she went over the seven hills to the
seven Dwarfs’. She knocked at the door, as usual, but Snowdrop put her
head out of the window and called out:

‘I may not let anyone in, the seven Dwarfs have forbidden me to do so.’

‘Are you afraid of being poisoned?’ asked the old woman. ‘See, I will
cut this apple in half. I’ll eat the white cheek and you can eat the
red.’

But the apple was so cunningly made that only the red cheek was
poisonous. Snowdrop longed to eat the tempting fruit, and when she saw
that the peasant woman was eating it herself, she couldn’t resist the
temptation any longer, and stretching out her hand she took the
poisonous half. But hardly had the first bite passed her lips than she
fell down dead on the ground. Then the eyes of the cruel Queen sparkled
with glee, and laughing aloud she cried:

‘As white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony, this time
the Dwarfs won’t be able to bring you back to life.’

When she got home she asked the mirror:

‘Mirror, mirror, hanging there,
Who in all the land’s most fair?’


and this time it replied:

‘You are most fair, my Lady Queen,
None fairer in the land, I ween.’


Then her jealous heart was at rest—at least, as much at rest as a
jealous heart can ever be.

When the little Dwarfs came home in the evening they found Snowdrop
lying on the ground, and she neither breathed nor stirred. They lifted
her up, and looked round everywhere to see if they could find anything
poisonous about. They unlaced her bodice, combed her hair, washed her
with water and wine, but all in vain; the child was dead and remained
dead. Then they placed her on a bier, and all the seven Dwarfs sat
round it, weeping and sobbing for three whole days. At last they made
up their minds to bury her, but she looked as blooming as a living
being, and her cheeks were still such a lovely colour, that they said:

‘We can’t hide her away in the black ground.’

So they had a coffin made of transparent glass, and they laid her in
it, and wrote on the lid in golden letters that she was a royal
Princess. Then they put the coffin on the top of the mountain, and one
of the Dwarfs always remained beside it and kept watch over it. And the
very birds of the air came and bewailed Snowdrop’s death, first an owl,
and then a raven, and last of all a little dove.

Snowdrop lay a long time in the coffin, and she always looked the same,
just as if she were fast asleep, and she remained as white as snow, as
red as blood, and her hair as black as ebony.

Now it happened one day that a Prince came to the wood and passed by
the Dwarfs’ house. He saw the coffin on the hill, with the beautiful
Snowdrop inside it, and when he had read what was written on it in
golden letters, he said to the Dwarf:

‘Give me the coffin. I’ll give you whatever you like for it.’

But the Dwarf said: ‘No; we wouldn’t part with it for all the gold in
the world.’

‘Well, then,’ he replied, ‘give it to me, because I can’t live without
Snowdrop. I will cherish and love it as my dearest possession.’

He spoke so sadly that the good Dwarfs had pity on him, and gave him
the coffin, and the Prince made his servants bear it away on their
shoulders. Now it happened that as they were going down the hill they
stumbled over a bush, and jolted the coffin so violently that the
poisonous bit of apple Snowdrop had swallowed fell out of her throat.
She gradually opened her eyes, lifted up the lid of the coffin, and sat
up alive and well.

‘Oh! dear me, where am I?’ she cried.

The Prince answered joyfully, ‘You are with me,’ and he told her all
that had happened, adding, ‘I love you better than anyone in the whole
wide world. Will you come with me to my father’s palace and be my
wife?’

Snowdrop consented, and went with him, and the marriage was celebrated
with great pomp and splendour.

Now Snowdrop’s wicked step-mother was one of the guests invited to the
wedding feast. When she had dressed herself very gorgeously for the
occasion, she went to the mirror, and said:

‘Mirror, mirror, hanging there,
Who in all the land’s most fair?’


and the mirror answered:

‘My Lady Queen, you are fair, ‘tis true,
But Snowdrop is fairer far than you.’


When the wicked woman heard these words she uttered a curse, and was
beside herself with rage and mortification. At first she didn’t want to
go to the wedding at all, but at the same time she felt she would never
be happy till she had seen the young Queen. As she entered Snowdrop
recognised her, and nearly fainted with fear; but red-hot iron shoes
had been prepared for the wicked old Queen, and she was made to get
into them and dance till she fell down dead.[29]

 [29] Grimm.




THE GOLDEN GOOSE


There was once a man who had three sons. The youngest of them was
called Dullhead, and was sneered and jeered at and snubbed on every
possible opportunity.

One day it happened that the eldest son wished to go into the forest to
cut wood, and before he started his mother gave him a fine rich cake
and a bottle of wine, so that he might be sure not to suffer from
hunger or thirst.

When he reached the forest he met a little old grey man who wished him
‘Good-morning,’ and said: ‘Do give me a piece of that cake you have got
in your pocket, and let me have a draught of your wine—I am so hungry
and thirsty.’

But this clever son replied: ‘If I give you my cake and wine I shall
have none left for myself; you just go your own way;’ and he left the
little man standing there and went further on into the forest. There he
began to cut down a tree, but before long he made a false stroke with
his axe, and cut his own arm so badly that he was obliged to go home
and have it bound up.

Then the second son went to the forest, and his mother gave him a good
cake and a bottle of wine as she had to his elder brother. He too met
the little old grey man, who begged him for a morsel of cake and a
draught of wine.

But the second son spoke most sensibly too, and said: ‘Whatever I give
to you I deprive myself of. Just go your own way, will you?’ Not long
after his punishment overtook him, for no sooner had he struck a couple
of blows on a tree with his axe, than he cut his leg so badly that he
had to be carried home.

So then Dullhead said: ‘Father, let me go out and cut wood.’

But his father answered: ‘Both your brothers have injured themselves.
You had better leave it alone; you know nothing about it.’

But Dullhead begged so hard to be allowed to go that at last his father
said: ‘Very well, then—go. Perhaps when you have hurt yourself, you may
learn to know better.’ His mother only gave him a very plain cake made
with water and baked in the cinders, and a bottle of sour beer.

When he got to the forest, he too met the little grey old man, who
greeted him and said: ‘Give me a piece of your cake and a draught from
your bottle; I am so hungry and thirsty.’

And Dullhead replied: ‘I’ve only got a cinder-cake and some sour beer,
but if you care to have that, let us sit down and eat.’

So they sat down, and when Dullhead brought out his cake he found it
had turned into a fine rich cake, and the sour beer into excellent
wine. Then they ate and drank, and when they had finished the little
man said: ‘Now I will bring you luck, because you have a kind heart and
are willing to share what you have with others. There stands an old
tree; cut it down, and amongst its roots you’ll find something.’ With
that the little man took leave.

Then Dullhead fell to at once to hew down the tree, and when it fell he
found amongst its roots a goose, whose feathers were all of pure gold.
He lifted it out, carried it off, and took it with him to an inn where
he meant to spend the night.

Now the landlord of the inn had three daughters, and when they saw the
goose they were filled with curiosity as to what this wonderful bird
could be, and each longed to have one of its golden feathers.

The eldest thought to herself: ‘No doubt I shall soon find a good
opportunity to pluck out one of its feathers,’ and the first time
Dullhead happened to leave the room she caught hold of the goose by its
wing. But, lo and behold! her fingers seemed to stick fast to the
goose, and she could not take her hand away.

Soon after the second daughter came in, and thought to pluck a golden
feather for herself too; but hardly had she touched her sister than she
stuck fast as well. At last the third sister came with the same
intentions, but the other two cried out: ‘Keep off! for Heaven’s sake,
keep off!’

The younger sister could not imagine why she was to keep off, and
thought to herself: ‘If they are both there, why should not I be there
too?’

So she sprang to them; but no sooner had she touched one of them than
she stuck fast to her. So they all three had to spend the night with
the goose.

Next morning Dullhead tucked the goose under his arm and went off,
without in the least troubling himself about the three girls who were
hanging on to it. They just had to run after him right or left as best
they could. In the middle of a field they met the parson, and when he
saw this procession he cried: ‘For shame, you bold girls! What do you
mean by running after a young fellow through the fields like that? Do
you call that proper behaviour?’ And with that he caught the youngest
girl by the hand to try and draw her away. But directly he touched her
he hung on himself, and had to run along with the rest of them.

Not long after the clerk came that way, and was much surprised to see
the parson following the footsteps of three girls. ‘Why, where is your
reverence going so fast?’ cried he; ‘don’t forget there is to be a
christening to-day;’ and he ran after him, caught him by the sleeve,
and hung on to it himself: As the five of them trotted along in this
fashion one after the other, two peasants were coming from their work
with their hoes. On seeing them the parson called out and begged them
to come and rescue him and the clerk. But no sooner did they touch the
clerk than they stuck on too, and so there were seven of them running
after Dullhead and his goose.

After a time they all came to a town where a King reigned whose
daughter was so serious and solemn that no one could ever manage to
make her laugh. So the King had decreed that whoever should succeed in
making her laugh should marry her.

When Dullhead heard this he marched before the Princess with his goose
and its appendages, and as soon as she saw these seven people
continually running after each other she burst out laughing, and could
not stop herself. Then Dullhead claimed her as his bride, but the King,
who did not much fancy him as a son-in-law, made all sorts of
objections, and told him he must first find a man who could drink up a
whole cellarful of wine.

Dullhead bethought him of the little grey man, who could, he felt sure,
help him; so he went off to the forest, and on the very spot where he
had cut down the tree he saw a man sitting with a most dismal
expression of face.

Dullhead asked him what he was taking so much to heart, and the man
answered: ‘I don’t know how I am ever to quench this terrible thirst I
am suffering from. Cold water doesn’t suit me at all. To be sure I’ve
emptied a whole barrel of wine, but what is one drop on a hot stone?’

‘I think I can help you,’ said Dullhead. ‘Come with me, and you shall
drink to your heart’s content.’ So he took him to the King’s cellar,
and the man sat down before the huge casks and drank and drank till he
drank up the whole contents of the cellar before the day closed.

Then Dullhead asked once more for his bride, but the King felt vexed at
the idea of a stupid fellow whom people called ‘Dullhead’ carrying off
his daughter, and he began to make fresh conditions. He required
Dullhead to find a man who could eat a mountain of bread. Dullhead did
not wait to consider long but went straight off to the forest, and
there on the same spot sat a man who was drawing in a strap as tight as
he could round his body, and making a most woeful face the while. Said
he: ‘I’ve eaten up a whole oven full of loaves, but what’s the good of
that to anyone who is as hungry as I am? I declare my stomach feels
quite empty, and I must draw my belt tight if I’m not to die of
starvation.’

Dullhead was delighted, and said: ‘Get up and come with me, and you
shall have plenty to eat,’ and he brought him to the King’s Court.

Now the King had given orders to have all the flour in his kingdom
brought together, and to have a huge mountain baked of it. But the man
from the wood just took up his stand before the mountain and began to
eat, and in one day it had all vanished.

For the third time Dullhead asked for his bride, but again the King
tried to make some evasion, and demanded a ship ‘which could sail on
land or water! When you come sailing in such a ship,’ said he, ‘you
shall have my daughter without further delay.’

Again Dullhead started off to the forest, and there he found the little
old grey man with whom he had shared his cake, and who said: ‘I have
eaten and I have drunk for you, and now I will give you the ship. I
have done all this for you because you were kind and merciful to me.’

Then he gave Dullhead a ship which could sail on land or water, and
when the King saw it he felt he could no longer refuse him his
daughter.

So they celebrated the wedding with great rejoicings; and after the
King’s death Dullhead succeeded to the kingdom, and lived happily with
his wife for many years after.[30]

 [30] Grimm.




THE SEVEN FOALS


There was once upon a time a couple of poor folks who lived in a
wretched hut, far away from everyone else, in a wood. They only just
managed to live from hand to mouth, and had great difficulty in doing
even so much as that, but they had three sons, and the youngest of them
was called Cinderlad, for he did nothing else but lie and poke about
among the ashes.

One day the eldest lad said that he would go out to earn his living; he
soon got leave to do that, and set out on his way into the world. He
walked on and on for the whole day, and when night was beginning to
fall he came to a royal palace. The King was standing outside on the
steps, and asked where he was going.

‘Oh, I am going about seeking a place, my father,’ said the youth.

‘Wilt thou serve me, and watch my seven foals?’ asked the King. ‘If
thou canst watch them for a whole day and tell me at night what they
eat and drink, thou shalt have the Princess and half my kingdom, but if
thou canst not, I will cut three red stripes on thy back.’

The youth thought that it was very easy work to watch the foals, and
that he could do it well enough.

Next morning, when day was beginning to dawn, the King’s Master of the
Horse let out the seven foals; and they ran away, and the youth after
them just as it chanced, over hill and dale, through woods end bogs.
When the youth had run thus for a long time he began to be tired, and
when he had held on a little longer he was heartily weary of watching
at all, and at the same moment he came to a cleft in a rock where an
old woman was sitting spinning with her distaff in her hand.

As soon as she caught sight of the youth, who was running after the
foals till the perspiration streamed down his face, she cried:

‘Come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair
for you.’

The lad was willing enough, so he sat down in the cleft of the rock
beside the old hag, and laid his head on her knees, and she combed his
hair all day while he lay there and gave himself up to idleness.

When evening was drawing near, the youth wanted to go.

‘I may just as well go straight home again,’ said he, ‘for it is no use
to go to the King’s palace.’

‘Wait till it is dusk,’ said the old hag, ‘and then the King’s foals
will pass by this place again, and you can run home with them; no one
will ever know that you have been lying here all day instead of
watching the foals.’

So when they came she gave the lad a bottle of water and a bit of moss,
and told him to show these to the King and say that this was what his
seven foals ate and drank.

‘Hast thou watched faithfully and well the whole day long?’ said the
King, when the lad came into his presence in the evening.

‘Yes, that I have!’ said the youth.

‘Then you are able to tell me what it is that my seven foals eat and
drink,’ said the King.

So the youth produced the bottle of water and the bit of moss which he
had got from the old woman, saying:

‘Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink.’

Then the King knew how his watching had been done, and fell into such a
rage that he ordered his people to chase the youth back to his own home
at once; but first they were to cut three red stripes in his back, and
rub salt into them.

When the youth reached home again, anyone can imagine what a state of
mind he was in. He had gone out once to seek a place, he said, but
never would he do such a thing again.

Next day the second son said that he would now go out into the world to
seek his fortune. His father and mother said ‘No,’ and bade him look at
his brother’s back, but the youth would not give up his design, and
stuck to it, and after a long, long time he got leave to go, and set
forth on his way. When he had walked all day he too came to the King’s
palace, and the King was standing outside on the steps, and asked where
he was going; and when the youth replied that he was going about in
search of a place, the King said that he might enter into his service
and watch his seven foals. Then the King promised him the same
punishment and the same reward that he had promised his brother.

The youth at once consented to this and entered into the King’s
service, for he thought he could easily watch the foals and inform the
King what they ate and drank.

In the grey light of dawn the Master of the Horse let out the seven
foals, and off they went again over hill and dale, and off went the lad
after them. But all went with him as it had gone with his brother. When
he had run after the foals for a long, long time and was hot and tired,
he passed by a cleft in the rock where an old woman was sitting
spinning with a distaff, and she called to him:

‘Come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair.’

The youth liked the thought of this, let the foals run where they
chose, and seated himself in the cleft of the rock by the side of the
old hag. So there he sat with his head on her lap, taking his ease the
livelong day.

The foals came back in the evening, and then he too got a bit of moss
and a bottle of water from the old hag, which things he was to show to
the King. But when the King asked the youth: ‘Canst thou tell me what
my seven foals eat and drink?’ and the youth showed him the bit of moss
and the bottle of water, and said: ‘Yes here may you behold their meat,
and here their drink,’ the King once more became wroth, and commanded
that three red stripes should be cut on the lad’s back, that salt
should be strewn upon them, and that he should then be instantly chased
back to his own home. So when the youth got home again he too related
all that had happened to him, and he too said that he had gone out in
search of a place once, but that never would he do it again.

On the third day Cinderlad wanted to set out. He had a fancy to try to
watch the seven foals himself, he said.

The two others laughed at him, and mocked him. ‘What! when all went so
ill with us, do you suppose that you are going to succeed? You look
like succeeding—you who have never done anything else but lie and poke
about among the ashes!’ said they.

‘Yes, I will go too,’ said Cinderlad, ‘for I have taken it into my
head.’

The two brothers laughed at him, and his father and mother begged him
not to go, but all to no purpose, and Cinderlad set out on his way. So
when he had walked the whole day, he too came to the King’s palace as
darkness began to fall.

There stood the King outside on the steps, and he asked whither he was
bound.

‘I am walking about in search of a place,’ said Cinderlad.

‘From whence do you come, then?’ inquired the King, for by this time he
wanted to know a little more about the men before he took any of them
into his service.

So Cinderlad told him whence he came, and that he was brother to the
two who had watched the seven foals for the King, and then he inquired
if he might be allowed to try to watch them on the following day.

‘Oh, shame on them!’ said the King, for it enraged him even to think of
them. ‘If thou art brother to those two, thou too art not good for
much. I have had enough of such fellows.’

‘Well, but as I have come here, you might just give me leave to make
the attempt,’ said Cinderlad.

‘Oh, very well, if thou art absolutely determined to have thy back
flayed, thou may’st have thine own way if thou wilt,’ said the King.

‘I would much rather have the Princess,’ said Cinderlad.

Next morning, in the grey light of dawn, the Master of the Horse let
out the seven foals again, and off they set over hill and dale, through
woods and bogs, and off went Cinderlad after them. When he had run thus
for a long time, he too came to the cleft in the rock. There the old
hag was once more sitting spinning from her distaff, and she cried to
Cinderlad;

‘Come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair
for you.’

‘Come to me, then; come to me!’ said Cinderlad, as he passed by jumping
and running, and keeping tight hold of one of the foals’ tails.

When he had got safely past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal
said:

‘Get on my back, for we have still a long way to go.’ So the lad did
this.

And thus they journeyed onwards a long, long way.

‘Dost thou see anything now?’ said the Foal.

‘No,’ said Cinderlad.

So they journeyed onwards a good bit farther.

‘Dost thou see anything now?’ asked the Foal.

‘Oh, no,’ said the lad.

When they had gone thus for a long, long way, the Foal again asked:

‘Dost thou see anything now?’

‘Yes, now I see something that is white,’ said Cinderlad. ‘It looks
like the trunk of a great thick birch tree.’

‘Yes, that is where we are to go in,’ said the Foal.

When they got to the trunk, the eldest foal broke it down on one side,
and then they saw a door where the trunk had been standing, and inside
this there was a small room, and in the room there was scarcely
anything but a small fire-place and a couple of benches, but behind the
door hung a great rusty sword and a small pitcher.

‘Canst thou wield that sword?’ asked the Foal.

Cinderlad tried, but could not do it; so he had to take a draught from
the pitcher, and then one more, and after that still another, and then
he was able to wield the sword with perfect ease.

‘Good,’ said the Foal; ‘and now thou must take the sword away with
thee, and with it shalt thou cut off the heads of all seven of us on
thy wedding-day, and then we shall become princes again as we were
before. For we are brothers of the Princess whom thou art to have when
thou canst tell the King what we eat and drink, but there is a mighty
Troll who has cast a spell over us. When thou hast cut off our heads,
thou must take the greatest care to lay each head at the tail of the
body to which it belonged before, and then the spell which the Troll
has cast upon us will lose all its power.’

Cinderlad promised to do this, and then they went on farther.

When they had travelled a long, long way, the Foal said:

‘Dost thou see anything?’

‘No,’ said Cinderlad.

So they went on a great distance farther.

‘And now?’ inquired the Foal, ‘seest thou nothing now?’

‘Alas! no,’ said Cinderlad.

So they travelled onwards again, for many and many a mile, over hill
and dale.

‘Now, then,’ said the Foal, ‘dost thou not see anything now?’

‘Yes,’ said Cinderlad; ‘now I see something like a bluish streak, far,
far away.’

‘That is a river,’ said the Foal, ‘and we have to cross it.’

There was a long, handsome bridge over the river, and when they had got
to the other side of it they again travelled on a long, long way, and
then once more the Foal inquired if Cinderlad saw anything. Yes, this
time he saw something that looked black, far, far away, and was rather
like a church tower.

‘Yes,’ said the Foal, ‘we shall go into that.’

When the Foals got into the churchyard they turned into men and looked
like the sons of a king, and their clothes were so magnificent that
they shone with splendour, and they went into the church and received
bread and wine from the priest, who was standing before the altar, and
Cinderlad went in too. But when the priest had laid his hands on the
princes and read the blessing, they went out of the church again, and
Cinderlad went out too, but he took with him a flask of wine and some
consecrated bread. No sooner had the seven princes come out into the
churchyard than they became foals again, and Cinderlad got upon the
back of the youngest, and they returned by the way they had come, only
they went much, much faster.

First they went over the bridge, and then past the trunk of the birch
tree, and then past the old hag who sat in the cleft of the rock
spinning, and they went by so fast that Cinderlad could not hear what
the old hag screeched after him, but just heard enough to understand
that she was terribly enraged.

It was all but dark when they got back to the King at nightfall, and he
himself was standing in the courtyard waiting for them.

‘Hast thou watched well and faithfully the whole day?’ said the King to
Cinderlad.

‘I have done my best,’ replied Cinderlad.

‘Then thou canst tell me what my seven foals eat and drink?’ asked the
King.

So Cinderlad pulled out the consecrated bread and the flask of wine,
and showed them to the King. ‘Here may you behold their meat, and here
their drink,’ said he.

‘Yes, diligently and faithfully hast thou watched,’ said the King, ‘and
thou shalt have the Princess and half the kingdom.’

So all was made ready for the wedding, and the King said that it was to
be so stately and magnificent that everyone should hear of it, and
everyone inquire about it.

But when they sat down to the marriage-feast, the bridegroom arose and
went down to the stable, for he said that he had forgotten something
which he must go and look to. When he got there, he did what the foals
had bidden him, and cut off the heads of all the seven. First the
eldest, and then the second, and so on according to their age, and he
was extremely careful to lay each head at the tail of the foal to which
it had belonged, and when that was done, all the foals became princes
again. When he returned to the marriage-feast with the seven princes,
the King was so joyful that he both kissed Cinderlad and clapped him on
the back, and his bride was still more delighted with him than she had
been before.

‘Half my kingdom is thine already,’ said the King, ‘and the other half
shall be thine after my death, for my sons can get countries and
kingdoms for themselves now that they have become princes again.’

Therefore, as all may well believe, there was joy and merriment at that
wedding.[31]

 [31] From J. Moe.




THE MARVELLOUS MUSICIAN


There was once upon a time a marvellous musician. One day he was
wandering through a wood all by himself, thinking now of one thing, now
of another, till there was nothing else left to think about. Then he
said to himself:

‘Time hangs very heavily on my hands when I’m all alone in the wood. I
must try and find a pleasant companion.’

So he took his fiddle out, and fiddled till he woke the echoes round.
After a time a wolf came through the thicket and trotted up to the
musician.

‘Oh! it’s a Wolf, is it?’ said he. ‘I’ve not the smallest wish for his
society.’

But the Wolf approached him and said:

‘Oh, my dear musician, how beautifully you play! I wish you’d teach me
how it’s done.’

‘That’s easily learned,’ answered the fiddler; ‘you must only do
exactly as I tell you.’

‘Of course I will,’ replied the Wolf. ‘I can promise that you will find
me a most apt pupil.’

So they joined company and went on their way together, and after a time
they came to an old oak tree, which was hollow and had a crack in the
middle of the trunk.

‘Now,’ said the Musician, ‘if you want to learn to fiddle, here’s your
chance. Lay your front paws in this crack.’

The Wolf did as he was told, and the Musician quickly seized a stone,
and wedged both his fore paws so firmly into the crack that he was held
there, a fast prisoner.

‘Wait there till I return,’ said the Fiddler, and he went on his way.

After a time he said to himself again:

‘Time hangs very heavily on my hands when I’m all alone in the wood; I
must try and find a companion.’

So he drew out his fiddle, and fiddled away lustily. Presently a fox
slunk through the trees.

‘Aha! what have we here?’ said the Musician. ‘A fox; well, I haven’t
the smallest desire for his company.’

The Fox came straight up to him and said:

‘My dear friend, how beautifully you play the fiddle; I would like to
learn how you do it.’

‘Nothing easier,’ said the Musician, ‘if you’ll promise to do exactly
as I tell you.’

‘Certainly,’ answered the Fox, ‘you have only to say the word.’

‘Well, then, follow me,’ replied the Fiddler.

When they had gone a bit of the way, they came to a path with high
trees on each side. Here the Musician halted, bent a stout hazel bough
down to the ground from one side of the path, and put his foot on the
end of it to keep it down. Then he bent a branch down from the other
side and said:

‘Give me your left front paw, my little Fox, if you really wish to
learn how it’s done.’

The Fox did as he was told, and the Musician tied his front paw to the
end of one of the branches.

‘Now, my friend,’ he said, ‘give me your right paw.’

This he bound to the other branch, and having carefully seen that his
knots were all secure, he stepped off the ends of the branches, and
they sprang back, leaving the poor Fox suspended in mid-air.

‘Just you wait where you are till I return,’ said the Musician, and he
went on his way again.

Once more he said to himself:

‘Time hangs heavily on my hands when I’m all alone in the wood; I must
try and find another companion.’

So he took out his fiddle and played as merrily as before. This time a
little hare came running up at the sound.

‘Oh! here comes a hare,’ said the Musician; ‘I’ve not the smallest
desire for his company.’

‘How beautifully you play, dear Mr. Fiddler,’ said the little Hare. ‘I
wish I could learn how you do it.’

‘It’s easily learnt,’ answered the Musician; ‘just do exactly as I tell
you.’

‘That I will,’ said the Hare, ‘you will find me a most attentive
pupil.’

They went on a bit together, till they came to a thin part of the wood,
where they found an aspen tree growing. The Musician bound a long cord
round the little Hare’s neck, the other end of which he fastened to the
tree.

‘Now, my merry little friend,’ said the Musician, ‘run twenty times
round the tree.’

The little Hare obeyed, and when it had run twenty times round the
tree, the cord had twisted itself twenty times round the trunk, so that
the poor little beast was held a fast prisoner, and it might bite and
tear as much as it liked, it couldn’t free itself, and the cord only
cut its tender neck.

‘Wait there till I return,’ said the Musician, and went on his way.

In the meantime the Wolf had pulled and bitten and scratched at the
stone, till at last he succeeded in getting his paws out. Full of
anger, he hurried after the Musician, determined when he met him to
tear him to pieces. When the Fox saw him running by, he called out as
loud as he could:

‘Brother Wolf, come to my rescue, the Musician has deceived me too.’

The Wolf pulled the branches down, bit the cord in two, and set the Fox
free. So they went on their way together, both vowing vengeance on the
Musician. They found the poor imprisoned little Hare, and having set
him free also, they all set out to look for their enemy.

During this time the Musician had once more played his fiddle, and had
been more fortunate in the result. The sounds pierced to the ears of a
poor woodman, who instantly left his work, and with his hatchet under
his arm came to listen to the music.

‘At last I’ve got a proper sort of companion,’ said the Musician, ‘for
it was a human being I wanted all along, and not a wild animal.’

And he began playing so enchantingly that the poor man stood there as
if bewitched, and his heart leapt for joy as he listened.

And as he stood thus, the Wolf and Fox and little Hare came up, and the
woodman saw at once that they meant mischief. He lifted his glittering
axe and placed himself in front of the Musician, as much as to say: ‘If
you touch a hair of his head, beware, for you will have to answer for
it to me.’

Then the beasts were frightened, and they all three ran back into the
wood, and the Musician played the woodman one of his best tunes, by way
of thanks, and then continued his way.[32]

 [32] Grimm.




THE STORY OF SIGURD


(This is a very old story: the Danes who used to fight with the English
in King Alfred’s time knew this story. They have carved on the rocks
pictures of some of the things that happen in the tale, and those
carvings may still be seen. Because it is so old and so beautiful the
story is told here again, but it has a sad ending—indeed it is all sad,
and all about fighting and killing, as might be expected from the
Danes.)

Once upon a time there was a King in the North who had won many wars,
but now he was old. Yet he took a new wife, and then another Prince,
who wanted to have married her, came up against him with a great army.
The old King went out and fought bravely, but at last his sword broke,
and he was wounded and his men fled. But in the night, when the battle
was over, his young wife came out and searched for him among the slain,
and at last she found him, and asked whether he might be healed. But he
said ‘No,’ his luck was gone, his sword was broken, and he must die.
And he told her that she would have a son, and that son would be a
great warrior, and would avenge him on the other King, his enemy. And
he bade her keep the broken pieces of the sword, to make a new sword
for his son, and that blade should be called Gram.

Then he died. And his wife called her maid to her and said, ‘Let us
change clothes, and you shall be called by my name, and I by yours,
lest the enemy finds us.’

So this was done, and they hid in a wood, but there some strangers met
them and carried them off in a ship to Denmark. And when they were
brought before the King, he thought the maid looked like a Queen, and
the Queen like a maid. So he asked the Queen, ‘How do you know in the
dark of night whether the hours are wearing to the morning?’

And she said:

‘I know because, when I was younger, I used to have to rise and light
the fires, and still I waken at the same time.’

‘A strange Queen to light the fires,’ thought the King.

Then he asked the Queen, who was dressed like a maid, ‘How do you know
in the dark of night whether the hours are wearing near the dawn?’

‘My father gave me a gold ring,’ said she, ‘and always, ere the
dawning, it grows cold on my finger.’

‘A rich house where the maids wore gold,’ said the King. ‘Truly you are
no maid, but a King’s daughter.’

So he treated her royally, and as time went on she had a son called
Sigurd, a beautiful boy and very strong. He had a tutor to be with him,
and once the tutor bade him go to the King and ask for a horse.

‘Choose a horse for yourself,’ said the King; and Sigurd went to the
wood, and there he met an old man with a white beard, and said, ‘Come!
help me in horse-choosing.’

Then the old man said, ‘Drive all the horses into the river, and choose
the one that swims across.’

So Sigurd drove them, and only one swam across. Sigurd chose him: his
name was Grani, and he came of Sleipnir’s breed, and was the best horse
in the world. For Sleipnir was the horse of Odin, the God of the North,
and was as swift as the wind.

But a day or two later his tutor said to Sigurd, ‘There is a great
treasure of gold hidden not far from here, and it would become you to
win it.’

But Sigurd answered, ‘I have heard stories of that treasure, and I know
that the dragon Fafnir guards it, and he is so huge and wicked that no
man dares to go near him.’

‘He is no bigger than other dragons,’ said the tutor, ‘and if you were
as brave as your father you would not fear him.’

‘I am no coward,’ says Sigurd; ‘why do you want me to fight with this
dragon?’

Then his tutor, whose name was Regin, told him that all this great
hoard of red gold had once belonged to his own father. And his father
had three sons—the first was Fafnir, the Dragon; the next was Otter,
who could put on the shape of an otter when he liked; and the next was
himself, Regin, and he was a great smith and maker of swords.

Now there was at that time a dwarf called Andvari, who lived in a pool
beneath a waterfall, and there he had hidden a great hoard of gold. And
one day Otter had been fishing there, and had killed a salmon and eaten
it, and was sleeping, like an otter, on a stone. Then someone came by,
and threw a stone at the otter and killed it, and flayed off the skin,
and took it to the house of Otter’s father. Then he knew his son was
dead, and to punish the person who had killed him he said he must have
the Otter’s skin filled with gold, and covered all over with red gold,
or it should go worse with him. Then the person who had killed Otter
went down and caught the Dwarf who owned all the treasure and took it
from him.

Only one ring was left, which the Dwarf wore, and even that was taken
from him.

Then the poor Dwarf was very angry, and he prayed that the gold might
never bring any but bad luck to all the men who might own it, for ever.

Then the otter skin was filled with gold and covered with gold, all but
one hair, and that was covered with the poor Dwarf’s last ring.

But it brought good luck to nobody. First Fafnir, the Dragon, killed
his own father, and then he went and wallowed on the gold, and would
let his brother have none, and no man dared go near it.

When Sigurd heard the story he said to Regin:

‘Make me a good sword that I may kill this Dragon.’

So Regin made a sword, and Sigurd tried it with a blow on a lump of
iron, and the sword broke.

Another sword he made, and Sigurd broke that too.

Then Sigurd went to his mother, and asked for the broken pieces of his
father’s blade, and gave them to Regin. And he hammered and wrought
them into a new sword, so sharp that fire seemed to burn along its
edges.

Sigurd tried this blade on the lump of iron, and it did not break, but
split the iron in two. Then he threw a lock of wool into the river, and
when it floated down against the sword it was cut into two pieces. So
Sigurd said that sword would do. But before he went against the Dragon
he led an army to fight the men who had killed his father, and he slew
their King, and took all his wealth, and went home.

When he had been at home a few days, he rode out with Regin one morning
to the heath where the Dragon used to lie. Then he saw the track which
the Dragon made when he went to a cliff to drink, and the track was as
if a great river had rolled along and left a deep valley.

Then Sigurd went down into that deep place, and dug many pits in it,
and in one of the pits he lay hidden with his sword drawn. There he
waited, and presently the earth began to shake with the weight of the
Dragon as he crawled to the water. And a cloud of venom flew before him
as he snorted and roared, so that it would have been death to stand
before him.

But Sigurd waited till half of him had crawled over the pit, and then
he thrust the sword Gram right into his very heart.

Then the Dragon lashed with his tail till stones broke and trees
crashed about him.

Then he spoke, as he died, and said:

‘Whoever thou art that hast slain me this gold shall be thy ruin, and
the ruin of all who own it.’

Sigurd said:

‘I would touch none of it if by losing it I should never die. But all
men die, and no brave man lets death frighten him from his desire. Die
thou, Fafnir,’ and then Fafnir died.

And after that Sigurd was called Fafnir’s Bane, and Dragonslayer.

Then Sigurd rode back, and met Regin, and Regin asked him to roast
Fafnir’s heart and let him taste of it.

So Sigurd put the heart of Fafnir on a stake, and roasted it. But it
chanced that he touched it with his finger, and it burned him. Then he
put his finger in his mouth, and so tasted the heart of Fafnir.

Then immediately he understood the language of birds, and he heard the
Woodpeckers say:

‘There is Sigurd roasting Fafnir’s heart for another, when he should
taste of it himself and learn all wisdom.’

The next bird said:

‘There lies Regin, ready to betray Sigurd, who trusts him.’

The third bird said:

‘Let him cut off Regin’s head, and keep all the gold to himself.’

The fourth bird said:

‘That let him do, and then ride over Hindfell, to the place where
Brynhild sleeps.’

When Sigurd heard all this, and how Regin was plotting to betray him,
he cut off Regin’s head with one blow of the sword Gram.

Then all the birds broke out singing:

‘We know a fair maid,
A fair maiden sleeping;
Sigurd, be not afraid,
Sigurd, win thou the maidv Fortune is keeping.

‘High over Hindfell
Red fire is flaming,
There doth the maiden dwell
She that should love thee well,
Meet for thy taming.

‘There must she sleep till thou
Comest for her waking
Rise up and ride, for now
Sure she will swear the vow
Fearless of breaking.’


Then Sigurd remembered how the story went that somewhere, far away,
there was a beautiful lady enchanted. She was under a spell, so that
she must always sleep in a castle surrounded by flaming fire; there she
must sleep for ever till there came a knight who would ride through the
fire and waken her. There he determined to go, but first he rode right
down the horrible trail of Fafnir. And Fafnir had lived in a cave with
iron doors, a cave dug deep down in the earth, and full of gold
bracelets, and crowns, and rings; and there, too, Sigurd found the Helm
of Dread, a golden helmet, and whoever wears it is invisible. All these
he piled on the back of the good horse Grani, and then he rode south to
Hindfell.

Now it was night, and on the crest of the hill Sigurd saw a red fire
blazing up into the sky, and within the flame a castle, and a banner on
the topmost tower. Then he set the horse Grani at the fire, and he
leaped through it lightly, as if it had been through the heather. So
Sigurd went within the castle door, and there he saw someone sleeping,
clad all in armour. Then he took the helmet off the head of the
sleeper, and behold, she was a most beautiful lady. And she wakened and
said, ‘Ah! is it Sigurd, Sigmund’s son, who has broken the curse, and
comes here to waken me at last?’

This curse came upon her when the thorn of the tree of sleep ran into
her hand long ago as a punishment because she had displeased Odin the
God. Long ago, too, she had vowed never to marry a man who knew fear,
and dared not ride through the fence of flaming fire. For she was a
warrior maid herself, and went armed into the battle like a man. But
now she and Sigurd loved each other, and promised to be true to each
other, and he gave her a ring, and it was the last ring taken from the
dwarf Andvari. Then Sigurd rode away, and he came to the house of a
King who had a fair daughter. Her name was Gudrun, and her mother was a
witch. Now Gudrun fell in love with Sigurd, but he was always talking
of Brynhild, how beautiful she was and how dear. So one day Gudrun’s
witch mother put poppy and forgetful drugs in a magical cup, and bade
Sigurd drink to her health, and he drank, and instantly he forgot poor
Brynhild and he loved Gudrun, and they were married with great
rejoicings.

Now the witch, the mother of Gudrun, wanted her son Gunnar to marry
Brynhild, and she bade him ride out with Sigurd and go and woo her. So
forth they rode to her father’s house, for Brynhild had quite gone out
of Sigurd’s mind by reason of the witch’s wine, but she remembered him
and loved him still. Then Brynhild’s father told Gunnar that she would
marry none but him who could ride the flame in front of her enchanted
tower, and thither they rode, and Gunnar set his horse at the flame,
but he would not face it. Then Gunnar tried Sigurd’s horse Grani, but
he would not move with Gunnar on his back. Then Gunnar remembered
witchcraft that his mother had taught him, and by his magic he made
Sigurd look exactly like himself, and he looked exactly like Gunnar.
Then Sigurd, in the shape of Gunnar and in his mail, mounted on Grani,
and Grani leaped the fence of fire, and Sigurd went in and found
Brynhild, but he did not remember her yet, because of the forgetful
medicine in the cup of the witch’s wine.

Now Brynhild had no help but to promise she would be his wife, the wife
of Gunnar as she supposed, for Sigurd wore Gunnar’s shape, and she had
sworn to wed whoever should ride the flames. And he gave her a ring,
and she gave him back the ring he had given her before in his own shape
as Sigurd, and it was the last ring of that poor dwarf Andvari. Then he
rode out again, and he and Gunnar changed shapes, and each was himself
again, and they went home to the witch Queen’s, and Sigurd gave the
dwarf’s ring to his wife, Gudrun. And Brynhild went to her father, and
said that a King had come called Gunnar, and had ridden the fire, and
she must marry him. ‘Yet I thought,’ she said, ‘that no man could have
done this deed but Sigurd, Fafnir’s bane, who was my true love. But he
has forgotten me, and my promise I must keep.’

So Gunnar and Brynhild were married, though it was not Gunnar but
Sigurd in Gunnar’s shape, that had ridden the fire.

And when the wedding was over and all the feast, then the magic of the
witch’s wine went out of Sigurd’s brain, and he remembered all. He
remembered how he had freed Brynhild from the spell, and how she was
his own true love, and how he had forgotten and had married another
woman, and won Brynhild to be the wife of another man.

But he was brave, and he spoke not a word of it to the others to make
them unhappy. Still he could not keep away the curse which was to come
on every one who owned the treasure of the dwarf Andvari, and his fatal
golden ring.

And the curse soon came upon all of them. For one day, when Brynhild
and Gudrun were bathing, Brynhild waded farthest out into the river,
and said she did that to show she was Gudrun’s superior. For her
husband, she said, had ridden through the flame when no other man dared
face it.

Then Gudrun was very angry, and said that it was Sigurd, not Gunnar,
who had ridden the flame, and had received from Brynhild that fatal
ring, the ring of the dwarf Andvari.

Then Brynhild saw the ring which Sigurd had given to Gudrun, and she
knew it and knew all, and she turned as pale as a dead woman, and went
home. All that evening she never spoke. Next day she told Gunnar, her
husband, that he was a coward and a liar, for he had never ridden the
flame, but had sent Sigurd to do it for him, and pretended that he had
done it himself. And she said he would never see her glad in his hall,
never drinking wine, never playing chess, never embroidering with the
golden thread, never speaking words of kindness. Then she rent all her
needlework asunder and wept aloud, so that everyone in the house heard
her. For her heart was broken, and her pride was broken in the same
hour. She had lost her true love, Sigurd, the slayer of Fafnir, and she
was married to a man who was a liar.

Then Sigurd came and tried to comfort her, but she would not listen,
and said she wished the sword stood fast in his heart.

‘Not long to wait,’ he said, ‘till the bitter sword stands fast in my
heart, and thou will not live long when I am dead. But, dear Brynhild,
live and be comforted, and love Gunnar thy husband, and I will give
thee all the gold, the treasure of the dragon Fafnir.’

Brynhild said:

‘It is too late.’

Then Sigurd was so grieved and his heart so swelled in his breast that
it burst the steel rings of his shirt of mail.

Sigurd went out and Brynhild determined to slay him. She mixed
serpent’s venom and wolf’s flesh, and gave them in one dish to her
husband’s younger brother, and when he had tasted them he was mad, and
he went into Sigurd’s chamber while he slept and pinned him to the bed
with a sword. But Sigurd woke, and caught the sword Gram into his hand,
and threw it at the man as he fled, and the sword cut him in twain.
Thus died Sigurd, Fafnir’s bane, whom no ten men could have slain in
fair fight. Then Gudrun wakened and saw him dead, and she moaned aloud,
and Brynhild heard her and laughed; but the kind horse Grani lay down
and died of very grief. And then Brynhild fell a-weeping till her heart
broke. So they attired Sigurd in all his golden armour, and built a
great pile of wood on board his ship, and at night laid on it the dead
Sigurd and the dead Brynhild, and the good horse, Grani, and set fire
to it, and launched the ship. And the wind bore it blazing out to sea,
flaming into the dark. So there were Sigurd and Brynhild burned
together, and the curse of the dwarf Andvari was fulfilled.[33]

 [33] The _Volsunga Saga_.